Hezar Bouseh
by Paper-Whore
Summary: Taking a job in Iran, a bodyguard was the last thing Christine wanted. She didn't expect Erik, her bodyguard, to pose as her husband. With political intrigue, their families and culture between them, can they ever turn their fake marriage into a real one?
1. Chapter 1

_**Hezar **__**Bouseh**_

Welcome to my very different and special story. I'm very excited to share this with you and hope you'll all enjoy it.

To my beta, thank you so much for all your guidance and for getting this back to me so quickly. I think we've set a new record! But I know it was all because of a certain regular at a certain coffee shop we frequent who gave you the motivation to edit so quickly.

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

* * *

"I've organised for you to have a bodyguard," Charles Daaé informed his daughter, Christine the day before she was to fly from Paris to Tehran, the capital of Iran to accept her new position as personal assistant to the French Ambassador in Tehran. "He will meet you at the airport and escort you to your apartment."

"Do I really need a bodyguard, Papa?" Christine asked even though she knew the answer. She had had a bodyguard all her life. It should not have surprised her that her father planned for a new guard. But, she could not help but live in hope.

She had just got rid of that annoying guard in China who made his opinions about females, intelligence and independence very clear. She had been dreading her father's announcement when she told him that she had accepted a position in the French Embassy in Iran. She could only hope that her new guard was not as adamant as her Chinese bodyguard that women should not speak.

But, Christine had learnt that she could never go anywhere without a bodyguard. When she was seven and living in Germany, angry Germans had tried to get to her father to convince him to change his mind regarding the foreign policy by kidnapping her. If it had not been for an observant teacher, life could have turned out very differently for Christine. From that day on, she had always had a bodyguard with her. She always had someone following her when she was at school, shopping or out at the library.

"You know the answer is yes, Christine. I nearly lost you," he said quietly, thinking of that fateful day at school and another event that occurred only a few years ago that no one liked to talk about. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"And where will he be living?"

"With you. I want you to have constant protection," Charles responded in a tone that indicated that the sleeping arrangements were not up for debate.

"I don't want a bodyguard. Don't you think that I'm old enough to live without someone following me around like a puppy dog." Her pale blue eyes narrowed in annoyance as she surged to her feet to walk to the kitchen and pour herself a drink, too agitated to sit still. Her straightened dark brown hair flicked against her back as she walked.

Christine had hoped that in moving to Iran she would be able to avoid having someone hover around her. She wanted to make a life and career of her own away from the overprotective gaze of her father. How could she become what she wanted to be if she always had someone with her?

Charles shook his head. Somehow, despite the fact that she had had burly men following her around for most of her life, Christine had an independent streak that still managed to surprise him. Every time he told her she would have a new bodyguard she protested, even though she knew he would never give in to her pleading. "I would hardly call a bodyguard a puppy dog, Christine."

"A guard dog, then," she conceded.

* * *

Like all Iranian men, Erik Milani had served his time in the military. The minimum was two years but Erik decided to stay on for another four years. He had found another place where he belonged. So at the age of twenty-four, after a severe injury, he reluctantly left the army and turned his attention to hiring his skills, usually as a bodyguard. For the past four years he had been protecting politicians and stars.

That was how he found himself reading the thick dossier on Christine Daaé, the only daughter of the retired French Ambassador in China and now the personal assistant to the French Ambassador in Tehran. He could only hope that he did not repeat the mistakes that he had made on a previous mission with Christine. The mistakes he had made with Morid Keleft continued to haunt him.

His thoughts swung quickly from Morid, back to Christine. He would be offering her protection twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. He would follow her to work, shopping, restaurants and friends' homes. The traditional Iranian in him balked at the idea of spending so much time – and he suspected alone – with a woman who he was not related to.

Should the _Niroye Entenzami_, the local law enforcement, question him while he was out with Christine, he had already forged documents saying that she was his wife. It was not unusual for law enforcement to approach men and women in the street, demanding to know their relationship. Erik just hoped that the documents looked authentic enough to fool the officers. He would have to buy Christine a false wedding ring to add to the façade.

Having all this evidence to support their false marriage did little to soothe Erik's mind. He might be able to fool others into thinking he and Christine were married, but he would still know.

It was a completely innocent task of staying by her side and protecting her from any harm. No one could protest against him just doing his job. Regardless of how he felt, he could not put her life at risk because of a tradition that she probably thought ridiculous. But nothing was ever going to happen between Christine and him. He knew better than to fall in love with his charge. He had seen another bodyguard make that mistake and that was something he had no intention of copying.

Not only that, although his Iranian father had braved breaking tradition to be with his French mother, Erik was not sure he could ever be with a Catholic woman who would never fully understand the culture he had grown up in. There were too many complications and difficulties.

Tomorrow he had to collect the girl from the airport. He had spent the last several hours planning the route he would take from the airport to her new home and after considering all the possibilities, had finally decided on a route. Ensuring Christine's safety when they reached the car would be an issue, but he had managed to convince one of his former army friends to stay with the car so he could be sure no bombs, tracking devices or surveillance equipment could be added while he was waiting inside the terminal.

Convinced everything would go off without a problem, Erik pulled off the caramel leather mask that covered half his face, splashed water over the twisted side of his face and went to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hezar Bouseh**

**Chapter 2**

It was Erik's first day with Christine Daaé. As ordered, he met her at the airport and drove her to his apartment where she would be staying in while in Iran. Erik stopped in front of the apartment and gazed up at the brightly coloured façade accented by white columns and ornate railings. He could not believe that his home was about to be invaded by a woman he had to protect – and pretend was his wife. He could already sense his life turning upside-down.

He carried Christine's suitcase up the stairs and left her outside for less than two minutes while he swept the apartment for anything dangerous or deadly. He was aware of Christine bouncing on the balls of her toes in frustration. She clearly had no idea why she had to wait outside her new home.

After showing her to the spare bedroom and the bathroom, Erik stood back as she bustled around the apartment, putting away her clothes and other belongings she had brought with her to Iran. As she moved quickly through the tiny space, hanging clothes in her new room or stacking her vanilla shampoo and conditioner in the only bathroom, Erik was able to watch her and take in her appearance.

She was quite pretty, he realised, unhappily. How could he convince his father that he was nothing more than a bodyguard to an attractive woman? Inside the privacy of the apartment, she had removed her headscarf revealing dead straight dark brown hair that Erik knew could not be natural. Her face, as he already knew, was a beautiful mix of angles and curves so typical of heart shaped faces. It was her eyes that fascinated him the most. They were a pale blue; but rather than being cold, they seemed to hold mysteries that begged to be discovered.

He could make out little of her figure beneath the loose Manteau she had forgotten to take off. For a brief moment he imagined taking that Manteau off but quickly stopped that thought before it could take root. He could never do anything like that with her. She was his charge and he had to remember that. Unless she became his wife in reality and he could justify spending time alone with her – and fantasising about being with her and seeing her in something other than the _hajeb –_ he had to make sure he stopped thinking that way about her. He could not be thinking of her as a woman. Besides, she was not the kind of woman who would ever be interested in a man like him with his mask.

Looking at her tightly fitted jeans, Erik could see that she had long, slim legs. And her toenails – she had taken her shoes off the moment she had walked through the door – were painted a bright shade of red.

Once she was unpacked, Christine called her father to assure him she had arrived safely and was now settling into her new home. Erik listened as she spoke to her father in French, her voice bright with excitement as she told him about her new life. He had expected to find himself stuck with a spoilt girl who hated the fact she had been relocated to the Middle East. He certainly had not thought it was something Christine was looking forward to.

"Why would you want to do that? Fine," she sighed and handed the phone to Erik who felt his jaw go slack. "My father would like to talk to you."

Erik waited until Christine was out of the room before greeting his employer, unsure what he was about to hear.

"I realise it goes against your tradition to live with and spend time with my daughter, but I worry about her. She has gone through a lot. I cannot thank you enough for agreeing to look after her," Charles began the moment Erik had finished speaking.

"I understand," Erik said quietly, not at all comfortable with the idea. But there was not much he could do. It was a well paying position that he had no intention of refusing. "I'm aware that she was almost kidnapped when she was seven and then was kidnapped in fact when she was twenty. I believe you have every reason to worry about her."

Erik glanced around for Christine. Although he could not see her, he had no doubt she was listening in to the conversation. Something about her – maybe it was her stubborn little chin – warned him that she was going to cause him a great deal of trouble.

"Then when she was eighteen," Charles continued, unaware of Erik's wandering thoughts, "She was out on her own celebrating her birthday and her drink was spiked. She was unconscious and would probably have been raped if her bodyguard hadn't been there. She has no recollection of that night and I want it to stay that way. I'm only telling you this so you understand why I'm so worried about her. She has been through so much and needs someone to look after her."

Erik remained silent, his dark blue eyes, so unusual in Iran, thoughtful. That had not been in the dossier.

He had his mother to thank for his eyes. The Frenchwoman had met his Iranian father twenty-nine years ago when she had travelled to Tehran and Behshahr on holiday. They had met on the bus from Behshahr to Tehran and fallen in love. When Rashid had proposed, Villette accepted and had packed up her life in France to be with him.

His unusual coloured eyes were not the only thing had had inherited from his mother. He had her family to thank for the twisted excuse of a face. Somehow, the rare condition, that his mother had always thought was just an accident, turned out to be a genetic disorder passed down through the Laroche family. Fortunately, he had his father's square face, tightly curled dark brown hair and tanned skin to compensate for his deformity.

Despite his hideous face, Erik's parents had raised him with love. Sometimes he suspected his mother had bullied his father into accepting him, but it was not long until Rashid had learnt to love his son as much as Villette did. Rashid knew exactly what he was entering into when he asked the outspoken Frenchwoman to marry him. There was nothing he would not do to see his wife happy. Although Villette had moved to Iran to be with Rashid, she still maintained her thoughts on tolerance, equality and respect for others that she had done her best to teach her son.

"You will have to work hard to gain her trust. She hasn't always been able to rely on her bodyguards the way she should have. Despite having a guard nearly all her life, she is independent and will challenge you whenever she can."

Erik nodded. He had already established that Christine was going to be a handful.

"So, you see, despite whatever either you or Christine think, she needs a bodyguard. She has been at risk her entire life and now, as the assistant to the Ambassador, she could be in danger again. I couldn't live if anything happened to her."

* * *

Several hours later, Christine headed to her new office, her dark hair covered in a dark blue headscarf and her body still hidden in a loose-fitting Manteau that reached just above her knees.

She did her best not to look like the expatriate that she was, but knew she was failing miserably. It was not at all how she imagined. She had read books about Tehran and Iran, but she still imagined the country to be exactly as it had been drawn in _Aladdin_, which she loved when she was a child. She imagined Shahs running across hot sand in curly toed shoes, seeking shelter in domed mosques while their servants, dressed in gauzy fabrics, sought shelter under oases with palm trees.

Instead, she had been greeted with a modern city. As the plane descended into Tehran just as dawn was breaking, painting the sky a beautiful peach and pale blue, Christine had stared out her window like a little girl, eagerly taking in the sights. She gazed in wonder as she saw rugged and dark green mountains, which apparently would often be covered in snow during winter. She saw skyscrapers surrounded by conifer trees and parks with fountains. There was the occasional mansion, pristinely white and gated. The cars driving along the highway glowed white and red as Iranians started another day. The city, which still had its lights on, gave off a warm, golden and welcoming glow.

Erik's dominant presence recalled Christine to her surroundings as she paused for a second to admire a flower stall – just like the ones in Paris. Naturally, he followed her to the office, walking so close she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. No matter how hard she tried to focus on her surroundings, she could not ignore his presence.

"You're too close!" she snapped, stopping so suddenly that Erik nearly crashed into her. He stepped back two steps. "If you're going to follow me at least respect my space. The same goes for the apartment. I won't go into your room as long as you don't go into mine!"

This was usually the time when she would become acquainted with her new bodyguard. When she was seven, the bodyguard she had had in Germany took her out for _apfelstrudel_ to bond. She had happily told the man everything as she ate the pastry. She told him how she loved _apfelstrdel _but hated chicken cabbage salad, she missed Paris, but most of all, she missed her mother – the greatest soprano Paris ever knew – who had died only a year earlier.

She thought nothing of the meal until, nearly seven years later, her new bodyguard took her to a tourist attraction in China that was almost completely deserted. In the informal setting the pair had learnt a lot about each other and formed a connection, which was unfortunately, not strong enough to stand Christine's independent nature. She doubted Erik would take her out to a museum or to eat some _faludeh_.

Instead he had simply dragged her through a shopping centre on the way to the embassy to buy her a ring. It was to be his wedding gift to her since they had to present the image of being husband and wife. As if it was not bad enough she had to tolerate yet another bodyguard, she had to pretend to be married to this one. When the shopkeeper asked Erik why he was searching for a ring, he quickly lied to the man, saying that Christine – his wife – had lost the gift he had given to her and needed a new one. Of course Erik had no idea she understood every word.

Walking through the centre, Christine's astonishment grew as she stared down at the floors that were so highly polished that she could see her reflection in them. The tiles had been laid in patterns that reminded her of Art Deco buildings in Germany. On the way from the jewellery store, Christine saw a perfumery decorated in beautiful green marble columns, pink Baroque display units and a large crystal chandelier. Bottles of different shapes and sizes covered the surfaces and were filled with perfumes of varying shades of gold. If Erik had not been there with her and she had not been annoyed with him for buying her that fake ring, she would have stopped and bought herself a new perfume.

She wanted to protest against this fake marriage but deep inside, knew it was for the best. Things would be much easier for both Erik and her if everyone thought they were married. She also wanted to speak for herself but the shopkeeper continued to ignore her. She had read that if accompanied by a man, the woman would be ignored; she had not expected to find it so frustrating. She was not used to being ignored.

As she set about organising her office, her new ring uncomfortable on her hand, she tried to ignore Erik as he stood in the doorway, his whole body radiating tension. She did not want to, but could not help admiring his body, which was, unfortunately, covered in a pair of black trousers and a white long-sleeved shirt.

She arranged her framed photos around her computer – including one of herself and her mother, dressed up for the premiere of an opera in Paris – and placed a few books on a shelf of the bookcase. She placed her mug in her bottom drawer. It was just as well she was only organising her office; she would not be able to think with him there. Hopefully, by the time she started work in a few days time she would be used to him.

She was far too intrigued by the mask that covered the right side of his face. The caramel coloured mask perfectly matched his skin tone. It started at his hairline and continued down his face to curl underneath his jaw and chin. As she stared shamelessly at the mask, she tried to figure out if the mask was artistically shaded or whether it was the lighting. The only way she would be able to tell for sure was if she stood right up in front of him and stared up at the mask. That was something she would never do. Christine was suffering from the confusing urge to stand up in his space and stare at his mask, and the even more confusing urge to touch it to see if it felt as soft as it looked.

Her thoughts drifting on, Christine found herself wondering what he could be hiding beneath that mask. Several possibilities came to mind, but she would have to pull out the medical book she had bought on a whim and see what the diagnosis was. Maybe, she thought to herself, it was not a disease or a genetic disorder. Maybe he had received an injury while serving in the army. Erik had told her nothing about his life but she knew that it was expected of men in Iran to serve in the military.

What surprised her almost as much as the mask was his eye colour. He had dark blue eyes that she never imagined an Iranian could possess. His colouring was so unexpected that she found herself drawn and intrigued by those eyes. As she looked at him, she noticed that he was still standing by the door, as far away from her as he could, looking distinctly uncomfortable. And he was staring at her, unrepentantly holding her gaze. Even if she had wanted to, she was unable to pull her eyes away from Erik's penetrating gaze.

"Is something wrong?" she asked after a while, unable to stand the intense silence.

"This is unusual."

Christine frowned. "What is?"

"Spending so much time alone with a woman who is not my sister or mother." His voice indicated that he expected her to know what was so strange about the situation.

She rolled her eyes. "You're just doing your job. Besides, I thought this false marriage"- she held up her left hand with the silver and ruby ring he had given her as a wedding gift – "Was supposed to deal with that issue."

Erik shook his head as if Christine did not truly understand the situation. "No one else may know that this is fake but we will know!"

Christine ignored Erik's priggish comment. "If I had my way I wouldn't have a bodyguard ever again. I don't need one. There's no risk to my virtue," she continued in a mocking tone. "I have no intention of falling for you and if you dare look at me in a sexual way, I'll castrate you. I grew up in China, you know. I know how it's done."

"You need to find yourself some female friends," Erik said after a long pause, not sure whether to believe her threats about castration. "Iranian women do not go out alone. You'll draw less attention to yourself if you have some females with you. If you're going to make your life here in Iran you need to fit in and follow our ways."

"Am I supposed to make _friends_?" Christine asked in a disbelieving tone.

A slight frown appeared on the visible side of Erik's face. "Why would you not want to make friends?"

For a moment – a very brief one – Christine was tempted to answer him. But she did not trust him. When she told people why she avoided making friends, they usually just laughed at her.

In the end, she shook her head and changed the subject. "I'm sorry if I offend you, but I'm not going to walk around with a group of women I don't know just because some tradition says I can't be alone with a man I'm not related to. I may have lived overseas for most of my life, but I'm _French_, Erik. This is one silly tradition I have no intention of following. Besides, I'm not going to have time to socialise. I plan to be Ambassador by the time I'm twenty-eight."

* * *

"Papa, do I really need a bodyguard?" Christine asked not for the first time. She had hidden herself away in her bedroom while Erik was somewhere in the apartment. In the privacy of the apartment, Christine had changed from her jeans and Manteau into a long dress. Her hair hung loose, curling slightly at the end of the day.

She was tired of the man and it had only been two days. None of her other bodyguards had ever annoyed her the way that Erik did. He annoyed her and she was having trouble trusting him. She had had a few trust issues with her bodyguard in China. Maybe if he had been more understanding and not betrayed her trust she would not have- But now that she twenty-four, she was independent and old enough not to need a bodyguard.

If only her father would understand that. But after the near kidnapping in Germany and then that disaster in China she could understand why he was so worried about her and insisted that she have a bodyguard. She would always be his only child and knew he would always worry about her. Perhaps, deep down, she worried that if she did not have a bodyguard as she had for almost her entire life something bad would happen; she would be jinxed.

"Christine, we've been through this. Iran is nothing like Paris. You can't just walk around by yourself. And you need protection. People have tried to use you to get to me your entire life. Working in the embassy has put you at even greater risk. Have you forgotten the time you were nearly kidnapped?"

"Of course I haven't!" she snapped. "But nothing has happened in years. Not since _that _day. Surely I'd be okay without a guard."

Charles shook his head. "It's not up for debate, Christine. If you won't accept Erik as your bodyguard, I will just look for one. I will keep looking until I find someone you will accept. You will not walk through Tehran without a guard. I don't know why you're fighting this, Christine. You've never protested before."

Christine said nothing, knowing that her father was right. He would do anything to make sure she was safe. If he said he would look for another guard he meant it.

If her father did not know why she was resisting her new bodyguard, Christine certainly did not know either. There was something about Erik that made her want to be independent and prove to him that she did not need his help. Maybe she had just reached that age where she felt she no longer needed protection. Twenty-four was certainly a good age to show she could look after herself.

"Guess what I did yesterday," Christine said brightly, changing the subject. She could not bear fighting with her father when he was only doing what he thought was best for her. "I cut a fringe!"

Speaking about her new hairstyle, Christine admired her new haircut in the mirror. She had bangs and new fringe that went straight across her forehead. Plenty of other women let wisps of hair frame their faces beneath the scarf so Christine had no problem. Besides, she decided as she glanced at her reflection, the fringe suited her. It reminded her of that photo of her mother.

"Your mother had a fringe like that. She was beautiful. You're just like her, Christine. She'd be so proud of you. I know she would have preferred you to become a singer, but she would still be proud."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hezar Bouseh**_

**Chapter 3**

"She is willing to risk social censure to be independent, Mama," Erik said softly into the phone.

For the past two days he had watched over Christine, frustrated by her independence and lack of respect for one of the most basic social expectations in his homeland. It had taken her only a few hours to try and sneak out of the apartment to go shopping. If Erik had not been expecting something like that, and if he had not happened past the bathroom to see her attempting to tie her headscarf around her hair and singing sweetly, he was convinced she would have escaped without his notice. Something told him that he would have to protect Christine from herself.

"Erik," Villette sighed after he had told her about this morning's near adventure. "You have to understand how difficult it must be for her. It is a difficult thing when you have lived an independent life to suddenly be told that you have another bodyguard and you need to go out with a group of women. She probably thought that she would be able to start a new life in Tehran and prove her independence."

"Well, that's another problem," Erik muttered, his voice filled with agitation. He tugged at the sleeve of his shirt as he walked to out the window into the street below. "She refuses to accept that she needs female friends. When I asked her why she would not want to make friends she didn't answer."

Villette shrugged, even though Erik could not see her. "I'm sure she has her reasons, _bébé_. Give her time to adjust. It took me a while to adjust to living in Iran with your father. She just needs time. All you can do in the meantime is protect her the best you can. Most of all, you need to understanding."

Erik shook his head. He had no idea what reason Christine could have not to want friends. He had only had his parents for company growing up. If he had had an opportunity to make friends as a child he would have jumped at the opportunity. But anyone he spoke to had teased him so Erik learnt that, despite his desire to have friends, making friends would not be so easy.

"How can I protect her when I failed Morid? He listened to me and did everything I said," Erik whispered to himself after he had disconnected from the call.

* * *

On her first Thursday in Tehran, the equivalent to everyone else's Saturday, Christine tied the bright blue scarf over her hair and knotted it intricately, covering most of her hair from view. She had spoken to one of the Iranian women who worked at the embassy and she had happily showed her how to tie it. She paused for another moment as she combed her fringe and bangs so they would peek out from under the scarf.

Her body was covered in a pair of fitted jeans and a Manteau. The only things that were left uncovered were her face and hands. If her skin was not so pale and her eyes were not a striking pale blue, she would look just like any other Iranian woman.

Waiting impatiently for her opportunity, Christine knew that if Erik saw her in the _Hajeb_ he would know she was going out and follow her. She wanted to go out alone. It was not acceptable for women to venture out alone but she did not care. She did not want to explain why a woman would be so interested in the Tehran Museum of Contemporary Art.

The time to escape finally came when Erik received his weekly call from her father, checking that nothing had occurred. With Erik distracted by the call to her father, Christine ducked out the front door of the apartment and ran downstairs, desperate to reach the museum before he found her missing. She had no idea how long it would take him to discover the truth but she wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

As she walked quickly through the streets she realised just how bad an idea it had been. Erik had warned her that women did not venture out one their own and he was right. She was drawing so much attention to herself.

Clearly, escaping alone was not such a good idea.

* * *

It took Erik only two minutes to realise that Christine was gone. He was not sure how he knew, but instinctively he knew his charge had left the apartment. He stood at the window and watched the road at the front of the apartment block in time to see Christine, wearing a blue headscarf step into the street and blend into the crowd.

Wasting no time, he checked he had his weapon and bolted for the door, determined not to lose sight of her. Thankfully she had worn a bright scarf so she was easily spotted in the crowd. It made his job a lot easier. He tried to push through the mass of people but he could never quite reach her. It was not until she began to climb the stairs of the Tehran Museum of Contemporary Art that he was able to wrap his hand around her upper arm in an almost violent gesture.

"You!" she cried in fright as she turned around to glare at him. "How did you find me?"

Too angry to speak, Erik did not answer. He could not believe that he had let his charge out of his sight. She could have been injured – or worse. He also suddenly realised that she was smarter than he gave her credit. For her to slip under his guard – even for a minute – showed how smart she was. He was not sure he liked that – or her for that matter.

He glared down at her only to have her return his glare, unrepentantly. His fingers tightened around her upper arm as tried to understand how she could flout tradition without a thought. As he stared into her stormy face, he realised that she was a stubborn woman – her determined little chin proved that – and as much as it annoyed him, he liked seeing that strong will in her. His anger faded, shifting into something he could not explain, and his grip loosened and he caressed her arms with his fingertips.

"If you plan to lose your bodyguard, Christine," he began, his voice thick with anger and passion, "It's always a wise idea not to wear a headscarf that is easily recognised. Now, it's time to go back," he ground out, just managing to keep control of his temper.

"No. I've come all this way and it took you this long to catch up to me. I'm going to look at the art."

Two spots of red appeared on Christine's cheeks as she ripped her arm out of his grasp. Her stubborn chin seemed to jut out from her heart-shaped face. Erik made a note to himself to look out for that look; that would be all the warning he got when it came to his stubborn charge.

"Art?" Erik asked, surprised that Christine was interested in it at all. He had not expected that from her. One look at her expression told him that the only way he would be able to get her back to the apartment was if he carried her kicking and screaming. That was something he did not want to do. "Fine. You may look at your art."

For the next two hours, Erik was surprised by the wealth of art knowledge that was contained in Christine's head. She spoke about the Picasso, Warhol and Van Gogh paintings and was even able to correct him once or twice. He could not think of a single time anyone had dared correct him. That Christine did it without thought only increased his anger to the point that he wanted to strangle her.

Maybe he should call her father and tell him that he could no longer protect Christine. He was supposed to protect her from outside threats, not himself.

"It is time to go, Christine," he said in a cold voice that assured her he meant every word.

Grudgingly, and without a word, she fell into step beside him and walked back to the apartment in a sullen silence. She was acting like a spoilt child and Erik's temper was close to snapping. It did not help when they were stopped only a few blocks from his apartment by an officer of the _Niroye Entenzami_. Erik closed his eyes for a moment and took a calming breath before focusing on the officer. This was the last thing he needed.

"Sir," the officer called to Erik. "Sir, your documents, please."

Erik discretely wrapped his hand around Christine's hand, pulling her to a stop and warning her that she needed to stay silent. He could not have her forgetting herself and saying or doing something that could get them in trouble with the law. Facing law enforcement for some imagined offence – or possibly real where Christine was concerned – was the last thing he wanted. He could withstand torture and the inquisition that would follow, but he was not sure about Christine. And if the truth ever came out that they were not actually married, things would get a whole lot worse.

This was the last thing Erik wanted after chasing his charge across Tehran and his confusing feelings for her. Nodding, he pulled out the piece of paper from his back pocket he had put there for such a situation. He had hoped to never need it but he was comforted in knowing that he had paid for the forged documents that stated he and Christine were married. Right now, it was the best way he had ever spent his money.

"She is your wife?" he asked, clearly surprised as he looked between Erik and Christine. His sharp eyes did not miss the way Erik gripped Christine's hand and narrowed at the sight of what he assumed to be public affection.

"Yes. We were married only a month ago." A smile appeared on his face but it was far from real. His dark blue eyes did not shine with happiness. He could only hope that the officer did not notice that he was not a happy husband. Glancing quickly at Christine, she certainly did not look like a contented wife; she was still angry with him for following her to the gallery and her anger radiated off her in waves.

The officer stood watching them for a few moments, his brows puckered as if troubled by something. He glanced repeatedly between Erik, Christine and the document he held in his hands. Every time he looked at Erik, he would shake his head and then fix Christine with a suspicious eye. She took a nervous step closer to Erik, inadvertently adding to the illusion of being a couple.

When he held the papers up to his nose so he could get a better look at it, Erik held his breath, dreading his discovery. Lifting it up to the sun, Erik's grip turned crushing on Christine's wrist and he stopped breathing. His body tensed, ready to fight the man in order to protect Christine. The man he had gone to for help was the best forger in the Middle East, but that would count for nothing if the officer figured out it was a fake.

"Daaé? What nationality is that?" he asked again, having trouble believing that a woman as beautiful as Christine was with a man like Erik.

"She was French, but she is Iranian now," Erik answered, wondering why Christine let out a quiet huff of disapproval at that announcement. It was as if she understood everything that was being said, but that was not possible. His fingers tightened warningly around her wrist and he shot her a warning glance.

"And the mask? She is not worried by the mask?"

"Of course not," Erik answered, forcing his tone to sound confident, almost arrogant. "She is my wife and accepts me as I am."

Finally, the officer nodded and handed the papers back to Erik, allowing him to relax slightly. He remained alert until the man was out of sight, keeping a grip on Christine's wrist. Once he was out of sight and swallowed up by the mass of people, Erik at last let go of Christine.

"What was that?" she asked softly once it was safe to speak.

"The documents saying that we are married. The _Niroye Entenzami_ often requests to see papers confirming the relationship between men and women. I've always carried it in case we are stopped."

"But we're not married." She paused for a moment as she thought. When his words hit her, she turned to him, her pale eyes wide with disapproval. "It's fake?"

Erik nodded. He could not understand why she was so judgemental of what he had done. If he had not done it they – Erik did not even want to think about it! "I paid a man I know to forge official papers for just such an occasion. I had to be sure you were protected and the best way to do that was for us to pretend to be married. But to pretend to be husband and wife, I needed proof."

Christine looked at him in a combination of surprise and disgust. "You convinced him we're married."

"I did it for you!" Erik muttered angrily, just managing to restrain himself from leaving her alone in the street. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath and, disregarding that couples did not show affection in public, grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to his apartment.

"Erik-"

He fixed her with a furious look, his dark blue eyes flashing with fire. Although he was furious with her, he could still remember his mother's lessons about treating women with respect and courtesy. "Do not speak! I do not want to hear another word until we are safe inside my apartment. Then, for once, you will listen, Miss Daaé."

For once, Christine did as she was told. She walked with Erik back to his apartment, maintaining a lofty silence. Erik looked at her, preparing himself for the explosion he knew was coming. There was no way Christine was going to let him get away with what had happened – either at the gallery or with the officer – without saying anything.

"Don't tell me you're going to lecture me, Erik," she said flippantly the moment the apartment door was closed. She pulled off her scarf and shook out her hair, which today, was curly, and watched as Erik did a quick sweep of the apartment, looking for the usual bombs or bugs. "I'm really not in the mood. You ruined my perfectly peaceful afternoon at the museum."

"I ruined your afternoon?" he choked out as he slammed his gun down on the coffee table, grabbed her upper arms and held her close. "_I_ ruined it? I was doing my duty to see you safe."

He glared down into her upturned face and felt himself pulled into her pale blue eyes. Again his anger shifted and this time he recognised it as passion. He lowered his head, wanting to kiss her and secretly hoping that it would put an end to the desire he felt. Looking into her eyes that were clouded over he was sure she felt it as well.

"I didn't want you there!" Christine snapped, giving her head a slight shake as she pushed against his chest and ruined the moment. Her chin jutted out stubbornly.

Erik took a moment to gather himself and gain control of his breathing. "It doesn't matter what you want. I have a duty to keep you safe and you know you should not go anywhere without me. That is why you waited until I distracted before you snuck out like a rebellious teenager.

"Now, listen to me, _asalam_," Erik said, mixing French and Persian in a single sentence, "You are a fool. You have grown up with bodyguards most of your life and yet you think you can slip my guard and roam about a foreign country where someone would happily take your life to get to your father, the Ambassador or France. You are a fool!"

"I am not a fool! I'm an intellectual!"

"Hardly," Erik scoffed, furious that she could so blindly and carelessly court danger. "If you had half a brain you would know better than to go out alone."

"I'm an independent woman," she said continued quickly, not at all deterred by Erik's comment. "I don't need a babysitter. And I didn't think I could slip your guard…not really. I just wanted to go out on my own. I don't always need a shadow."

"_A__salam_, call it what you will, but you are an idiot," he continued unrepentantly.

"I am not an idiot and I am not your 'honey'! Stop calling me that." Christine had the pleasure of watching Erik's face pale when he realised that she understood at least one Persian word.

"You-you speak Persian?" he asked in French, his voice weak.

"Fluently," Christine responded proudly in Persian. "I learnt from a book before I even arrived here in Iran. I also speak French, German, English, Chinese and a bit of Japanese. It would make life difficult if I didn't speak it, don't you think?"

"I had no idea." Erik felt bewildered.

"Of course you didn't," she said loftily, refusing to switch back into French. "Everyone thinks I can only speak French and English. No one tries to talk to me in their native tongue because they think I don't understand. Not even Leroy knows I can speak Persian. It's very good for eavesdropping. I have learnt more from listening at doors than I-"

"You can never do that again, Christine!" Erik interrupted, the issue no longer her sneaking out but her ability to understand Persian. He could not believe she had been so reckless as to listen at doors. If she had been caught… "If anyone knows that you can understand them, particularly when it comes to state secrets, your life could be in danger. Men – arrogant men – are more likely to speak openly when they think that they cannot be understood. There are some things that assistants – and women – should never hear."

"You're worrying unnecessarily, Erik," she said, back in French.

"It's my job to worry about you, Christine." He shook his head as he focused on the real issue at hand – her sneaking out. "If you're not going to accept the company of women, then you're not going anywhere without me."

Erik shook his head when Christine left him alone in the living room. She was definitely going to be the death of him. Not only did she have the bad habit of trying to sneak out without him but she also could understand Persian. Christine did not understand the potential consequences of being able to understand the language, but Erik was well aware of the risks.

Again, he was protecting her, not from someone else, but herself.

* * *

In the silence of the darkened apartment, Erik paced his bedroom, too restless to sleep. Christine had gone to bed hours ago, leaving him awake and alone with his thoughts. Too many thoughts were going through his head to allow sleep to come easily. Most of them centred on Christine.

Christine could speak Persian. She could speak it as if she had speaking it her entire life; her accent was faultless. Somehow, he knew her English, Chinese and German accents would also perfect. Clearly she had a natural ear for languages. Why was he panicking that she could speak Persian when he should have been happy for her?

He was shocked at his own reaction. That she could speak Persian – and several other languages – surprised him. He had no idea why he was so worried about her. It made no sense. His mother had learnt Persian for his father and it had meant the world to Rashid. He could not understand why he did not feel pleased for Christine.

Speaking Persian would certainly make life easier for her if she made a life for herself in Iran.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hezar Bouseh**_

**Chapter 4**

"Why did you agree to dinner?" Christine demanded angrily as she and Erik climbed the stairs to the apartment where Jasmin and her husband lived.

It was clear she was still smarting over the way he had quickly agreed to dinner with Christine's embassy colleague without consulting her. Jasmin had asked her if she wanted to go over for dinner, yet Erik was the one who had said yes. He could tell she hated the way he took control and made decisions without consulting her, but Erik was not overly worried. He was fairly certain he knew what was best for her.

Erik looked at her from over his shoulder, but said nothing for a moment. When they reached the landing, he gripped her arm and spun her around to face him.

"It would have been rude to refuse her request. Besides, people are noticing that although we're a newly married couple there is no affection between us. It's giving rise to gossip."

Christine shrugged. "So what?"

"People need to believe we're happily married. This is a perfect opportunity to put an end to the rumours and also for you to make friends."

"I knew it! Why can't you accept that I don't want any friends?" Christine's face was pink with anger but it quickly cooled and she heaved a sigh. "Fine. I'll have dinner with Jasmin and I will pretend to be a happy little wife."

Erik wisely remained silent and began to climb the last steps to the apartment. She gave in far too quickly for him to be completely at ease. He had no idea how the dinner would play out and had even less of an idea what Christine's idea of a 'happy little wife' involved. For all he knew, she could be one of those wives who criticised everything her husband did. He hoped it was not the case; no one would believe they were happily married if she did that.

No sooner had they knocked on the door, Jasmin opened it, smiling brightly, wearing a knee length dress. Her blonde hair was tied back and left uncovered. Looking at Jasmin and her husband, Victor, Erik realised with a growing sense of discomfort that there was nothing Iranian about this couple. They were both so relaxed with each other it was clear they had been together for years. He would never have that level of comfort with Christine – not that he wanted it with her. He only had to look at his former colleague to know falling in love with your charge was a bad idea.

"Come in, Christine, Erik!" Victor ushered them inside and poured them a glass of juice. "I'd offer you champagne, but-"

"Juice will be fine, thank you," Erik answered politely. He rested his hand on the small of Christine's back and pushed her further into the apartment. It was the first time he had touched her in weeks and event through the layers of clothes he felt the awareness of her that no matter how hard he tried to ignore would never go away.

"Christine, you can take your _hajeb_ off here, it's quite all right. We're all French here." It was as if Jasmin had only just noticed that Christine was dressed in a Manteau and a dark blue headscarf.

"Most of us," Christine answered dryly shooting a quick glance at Erik and smiled prettily. "_Asalam_, would you mind?" She turned her back on Erik, silently asking him to unknot the scarf she had tied intricately around her head before leaving his apartment.

For a moment, Erik thought she was asking his permission. That thought left him off balance until he realised that she needed his help. He tried to imagine Christine ever asking his permission to do something and decided it would never happen. Taking a long swallow of the juice, as if it could somehow give him the courage he needed, Erik set his glass down and untied Christine's scarf.

His fingers shook as he struggled with the knot, finding the closeness disconcerting. He was painfully aware of her slight body and the warmth radiating from it. Why was she asking him to untie the scarf when he was sure she could do it herself? She had never asked him to do it before. When she let out a soft laugh and raised her hands to help him, her fingers accidently tangling in his, Erik finally understood what she was doing. She was playing the happy little wife.

When they had finally removed the scarf, Erik handed it to Christine and, unable to resist the urge, ran his fingers through the silky stands of her hair. Tonight she had straightened it so that it fell about an inch longer than if it had been curled. He knew he should pull his hand away – it was not right that he was touching her like this – and particularly in front of others – but it was if he had lost control of his hand. The way that Christine leant against his back did not help his control.

Eventually she stepped away and pulled her Manteau off her shoulders to reveal a white asymmetrical blouse that left one of her shoulders completely bare. When he saw the creamy skin, Erik could do nothing but stare. His fingers itched to touch her, to see if it was as soft as it looked. Christine chose that moment to look at him and her eyes widened with surprise at whatever it was that she saw in his face.

"Anyone would think you've never seen your wife in anything but a Manteau," Victor observed, clearly aware of the embassy's theory that things were already strained between the newlyweds.

While Erik was floundering for words, Christine smiled, wrapped her arm around his waist, tucking herself perfectly into his side and smiled at her hosts. "He's never seen this top. I had it shipped over here from Paris," she lied smoothly with all the grace of a seasoned politician. "You do like it, don't you, _asalam_?"

Erik swallowed hard and gave her a reassuring nod. "I'm speechless, _asalam_," he assured her as he tapped her playfully on the chin.

Now that he knew that she was pretending to be happily married, he was willing to go along with her acting. If her idea of a wife meant being affectionate rather than a banshee, he was happy to go along. At least she was not exclaiming to everyone that they were not married. And, he had to admit there was something comforting about having Christine's arm around his waist.

Erik watched as Christine smiled with false contentment and then followed Jasmin and Victor to the dining room where they had set the table. The hosts placed a traditional French dinner on the table as Erik held out a chair for Christine.

Christine was delighted at the food she had hardly eaten since arriving in Tehran. Erik, who had never learnt to cook French food, was a little less certain. But at Christine's cajoling, he ate several dishes he had never tried before. She had tried to feed him but Erik had simply taken the fork from her hand and raised it to his mouth himself, finding her act far too intimate.

Having been keeping a close eye on Victor and Jasmin, Erik saw the way that Jasmin's face tightened with discomfort and uncertainty. Realising that he, not Christine, was to blame for the doubt he saw in Jasmin's eyes, Erik knew he had to do something. He looked at Christine and saw her flush with embarrassment at his rejection.

"I'm sorry, _kami Daaé,_" Erik apologised as he brushed her hair over her shoulder, letting the back of his fingers trail across her skin in what he hoped was a repentant gesture. "I-"

"You don't need to apologise, _asalam_," she interrupted him, wrapping her hand around his fingers and placing their joined hands on the table.

Again, their fingers twined together in the most natural way, almost as if they had made that simple display of affection numerous other times before in the privacy of their own home. Erik's thumb rubbed small circles on the back of her hand. He glanced down at their hands and was surprised when Christine squeezed his fingers in response.

"Your name is Daaé?" Victor asked in surprise as he looked at Christine. "Why is that name familiar?"

"My mother is – was – Charlotte Daaé, the soprano of the Opéra Garnier." Christine's eyes filled with tears as she spoke of her mother. She had been dead for almost eighteen years and still Christine felt the gaping loss of never really knowing her.

Erik heard her voice choke with tears and saw, despite her best efforts, a tear slip down her cheek. Keeping his grip on her hand, Erik reached across his body and tenderly wiped the tear away with the pad of his thumb.

"Can you sing?" Jasmin asked, too intrigued by the thought that Christine was the daughter of a celebrity to be tactful.

"Christine sings when we're in the shower. She's an excellent singer," Erik answered for her, not wanting her to be forced to be involved in a conversation she was finding difficult. Belatedly realising what he had said and the possible meaning behind it, Erik's face flushed. Even more embarrassed, he pressed a hand to cool his left cheek.

He had not meant for it to sound as if they showered together on a regular basis. What he had meant to say was that Christine would sing in the shower, but she would also sing around the apartment while he was in the shower. When they were sleeping – or in the shower – was the only time they were not in close company.

The sexual nature of sharing a shower with Christine scared him – both because of the intimacy and the breaking of tradition. But as he looked at her, he realised that the fear he felt was nothing compared to sudden desire he was experiencing when the image of Christine's naked body pressed against his appeared in his mind.

Her face now flushing with embarrassment, Christine looked at Erik with wide eyes. "You've never said that to me before," she whispered, mortified.

Erik knew she was accusing him of listening in while she was in the shower, but knew better than to admit it in front of Jasmin and Victor. "I'm sorry, _asalam_." He paused for a long moment as he raised their joined hands to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. "I should have told you a long time ago."

Nervously, he looked at her, expecting to see anger shining in her pale eyes. There was none. As she held his gaze, her eyes sparkled with something he could not name. Her cheeks were now a delicate pink and her chest rose and fell as if she was having as much trouble breathing as he was.

Wanting to press his hands against her chest to try to calm her breathing, Erik had to content himself with kissing the back of her hand again. As his lips caressed the soft skin of her hand, he was surprised by the pleasure it brought. He looked again at Christine and saw that sparkle in her eye again.

* * *

For the rest of the week, an uncertain peace existed between Christine and Erik. She spoke Persian as much as she spoke French to him. Erik lived on edge with her, unsure what language she would speak in and if she would suddenly run for the door while he was not looking. He was also shocked by the attraction that was becoming harder to ignore.

He was struggling with being a guard for the Ambassador's assistant. Previous assignments, he had escorted politicians overseas and to press conferences or celebrities to premieres and photo shoots. But he had no such duties with Christine. He spent most of his days following her from the apartment to the office and then on Friday from library to museum to gallery. He made sure never to take the same route to the embassy twice in the row and always checked her office and apartment for bugs or bombs. It annoyed Christine but Erik could not care. Her life was too important.

At first he had been surprised when she told him she wanted to go to the Niavaran Palace Complex and then return to the apartment via the National Library of Iran. He was trying to learn not to be surprised where she was concerned but seemed to be failing.

"I'm not very good at reading Persian," she admitted, ashamed to confess that she was not perfect at the foreign language.

He had thought her a brainless woman but he quickly realised that she was anything but. There was no reason why a woman who could speak four languages would not be interested in the culture of Iran or any number of other things.

As they walked through the library, Christine poring over the spines of the books, trying to translate what she read, Erik was painfully aware of the disapproving looks they were receiving. If his father did not know he was protecting Christine, he would be furious – more than he already was – with him. But even knowing that Erik was acting as a bodyguard did little to ease Rashid's displeasure at his son. Erik had already earned a lecture on family honour and knew that there would be others. If only Christine could find a friend, then this could be avoided and Rashid would not be so unhappy with her only child. Maybe he should introduce her to his cousin, Dorri, who had just moved to the city to study at university.

"I know what you're going to say," Christine said when they returned to the apartment, her hands full of books. "I think you might be right."

The right corner of Erik's lips turned up in a smirk, hidden by his caramel mask. "What am I right about?"

"That I need to find some friends; it will be easier for me to go with a group of women." It cost a lot of pride to admit that Erik was right. "I just don't want to."

"I don't understand," Erik began in confusion as he struggled to understand why Christine felt the way she did. "Why do you not want any friends? All people want friends."

"What's the point?" she demanded softly as she pulled off her headscarf and threw it at the coffee table. She sat down on the lounge, away from Erik, her head hanging in sadness. "I've learnt not to make friends. I've moved from city to city so many times that it's just too hard. No sooner had I made a friend, I had to leave him or her. We'd promise to write to each other, but after a few weeks, they stopped writing back.

"It's just easier not to bother. I worry that I'll never be in a place long enough to make a friend. Why bother when I don't know how long I'll be in a city?"

"But you'll be lonely." Just as he had been for most of his life. He did not want that for Christine. He could hear the sadness and loneliness in her voice and did not know what to do to help her. No mater what she said, he knew she was not going to befriend anyone. She could not change the habits of a lifetime. If she was not going to make friends he would have to be everything she needed.

"Have you ever thought of staying in Paris – or somewhere else – and starting a new life with friends, a job and a family of your own?" he asked a few minutes later when Christine had returned to the living room having swapped her Manteau for a shirt with sleeves that came to her elbows and a pair of jeans that reached just below her knees.

Still not used to being in the same room as a woman, Erik always took the single armchair in the corner of the room, away from Christine.

"All the time," Christine confessed as she sorted through her pile of books. "But I spent my childhood travelling and know no different. Going into politics was a logical choice. Hopefully in a few years time, I'll be an Ambassador myself. Maybe then I can stay somewhere and make some friends."

* * *

The Ambassador paced his office after the fateful and very unsuccessful meeting with the President. He was angry – no furious.

It had been a simple and reasonable request. And yet the President had dismissed it and all but thrown him out of his office after only ten minutes.

"Your request is ridiculous and I will not even consider it. Now, get out; I have a pressing appointment," the President had ordered, not looking at the Ambassador.

His dark eyes narrowing and his hands shaking with rage, the Ambassador could easily guess at the appointment. The President had been looking down at his hands. He probably needed to have them manicured, he thought scathingly.

He had been serving as an Ambassador in numerous cities for almost thirty years; he knew when a request was reasonable and when it was not. This was one of the most reasonable requests he had ever made! If he could not discuss this with the President, things at the Embassy could get out of hand.

Calming his nerves, he set about trying to find the best way to make this right.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Hezar Bouseh_**

As we get into the story, I just wanted to take a second to thank everyone who has read _Hezar Bouseh _and taken that little bit of extra effort to leave a review. It really means a lot to know that people are reading and supporting the story.

* * *

**Chaper 5**

"This has just arrived for you, Christine!" the receptionist said, her voice bright with excitement as she pushed open the door to Christine's office. In her arms, she carried a large basket, wrapped in cellophane and tied with ribbons.

Christine looked up and smiled in delight when she saw what the other woman was carrying. Every year, while they were overseas, her father would order a gift basket filled with French delicacies for her birthday. She had completely forgotten about the tradition but now that the basket was in front of her she wondered how it could have slipped her mind.

The basket had always been the best thing about having a summer birthday. After school or work, she would find a quiet, cool spot somewhere, pull out the book her father always packed into the basket and slowly work her way through the contents. It was the perfect way to spend the day during the hot months. In Tehran the thought of sitting in air conditioning with her book sounded like the perfect way to end the day.

"Thank you, Jasmin." Christine took the basket from her and placed it on the desk, her blue eyes dancing with excitement and her fingers itching to unwrap the basket. Before she could rip into the package, Erik grabbed her wrist, preventing her. She had not even noticed him move from the chair by the door.

"I need to check it first," he informed her calmly, not at all disturbed by the angry look she gave him or the way her chin was set at that stubborn angle.

"For what? Out-of-date _foie gras_? Flat champagne?"

Erik shook his head, refusing to be drawn into an argument. She would not appreciate the reminder that alcohol was banned in Iran. He was just doing his duty; something he had not done with Morid. Instead, he just ripped open the wrapping and pulled everything out, examining everything individually and even the basket.

"Are you satisfied?" Christine demanded furiously as she bundled everything back into the basket. "There were no bombs or bugs in there! Thank you for ruining my birthday present! It's good to know that you take your task of protecting me so seriously you're willing to ruin the one birthday tradition that has always managed to survive, no matter where in the world my father and I were."

Erik sighed, guilty that in his quest to be the perfect bodyguard, he had ruined something that was special to her. "Christine-"

"Get out!"

"You know I can't-"

"I have an important phone call to make and would prefer to do it without an audience. Get out!"

Alone in her office, Christine sank down into the chair behind her desk and buried her face in her hands as she fought not to cry. Her birthday present, the one thing she could look forward to with absolute certainty, had been ruined. Her tradition of marvelling at and tasting each little treat one at a time was taken from her. It was all Erik's fault.

* * *

Worried by the French Ambassador's order to meet her in the boardroom, Christine slowly padded away from her office. Maybe he was aware she had called her father to thank him for her birthday present and was unhappy that she used the embassy's phone to make a long distance call. But surely, once she told him it was her birthday he would not be angry. Erik was a few steps behind, a calming presence.

She should have told him that she did not want him with her. She never let him enter the Ambassador's office; he always stayed in her office, waiting her return. This time should not have been any different but he seemed to instinctively know when she needed him. Fearing the worst, she needed him now.

She saw no one on her way to the boardroom, but thought nothing of it. Most were probably out to lunch. Pushing open the door, the last thing Christine expected was for everyone to be sitting in on her reprimand. Slowly coming out of her shock, she realised that they had organised an impromptu birthday party for her.

Spread out across the table was traditional Iranian food as well as French food, which she suspected came from the personal stashes of her colleagues. Balloons floated from the floor and a bouquet of flowers was sitting in the middle of the table.

"Why didn't you tell us it's your birthday?" Leroy, the Ambassador demanded with a fatherly shake of his head as he gave Christine a hug.

Christine looked around in amazement as she accepted a hug from Jasmin and a few other colleagues. "How did you know?"

"Erik told us."

Leroy was the only person who knew that Erik was not Christine's husband, but her bodyguard. Everyone else in the embassy thought that they were simply two newlyweds who could not bear to be apart for more than a few minutes. That was the way that they decided it should stay. It would be safer for everyone if they thought Erik was simply a possessive husband.

Christine looked questioningly at Erik whose dark blue eyes begged her forgiveness. He had just been doing his job and did not realise just how important her tradition was to her. He had done this to make it up to her. He just wanted to make things better. She gave him a smile and threw her arms around his neck as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, assuring him that everything was forgiven – and playing up to the image of a happy wife. She ignored the tension that caused his muscles to tighten. Maybe he was not so bad. After all, he had done this to see her happy. He would not have gone to so much effort to make up for upsetting her if her feelings meant so little to him.

"Happy birthday," Leroy continued as he pushed a Rum Baba with five candles towards Christine. He grinned apologetically when she noticed that a slice was already missing. "My wife made the cake for me yesterday. I may have eaten a piece before I found out you needed a cake to celebrate your birthday."

Touched that her supervisor was willing to sacrifice the cake his wife had made especially for him, Christine could not care that it was missing a piece or that some of the food in the containers looked half eaten. They had decided to celebrate her birthday, even if she had forgotten about it.

"It's perfect, and please, thank your wife." Christine gave Leroy another quick hug before blowing out the candles.

* * *

He looked down at Morid's broken and bleeding body. His clothes were stained and he lay in a puddle of his blood. A bullet hole marred the skin over his heart. His own arm bleeding, Erik looked down at Morid, his gun hanging at his side.

Erik bolted up in bed, violently jolted from his dream. He ran a hand over his face that was covered in sweat, despite the air conditioning.

Morid was dead. He had been dead for three years. He had killed him. He thought he had left that behind.

Reluctantly pulling on his mask and a shirt, Erik crept through the apartment to make sure Christine was sleeping peacefully in her room. Pausing outside her door, he listened, holding his breath so he could hear the sound of her soft breaths. Convinced that she was safe, Erik sat in the living room, staring down at the dark street, lit only by the occasional car.

Last time, he had been unable to protect Morid. He just hoped that this time he would be able to successfully complete the mission. Morid's death hung over his head.

* * *

Erik sat next to Christine, keeping a close eye on her and her behaviour throughout the dinner. He could tell just by looking at her that something was troubling her and could only guess that someone had said something insulting to her. If anyone had tried to touch her, he would have seen and made him or her pay. For all her annoying habits, he was growing attached the woman and did not want to see her upset.

A slight frown marred his forehead before he could wipe it away. He had seen her at work and knew she could be talkative and outgoing with her colleagues. He imagined that she would be the same person at the official function held in the French Ambassador's house. But she was anything but talkative. She was silent, applying herself to her meal and drinking a _Sharbat_ as if she were trying to get drunk. In fact, if it had been alcohol, Erik suspected she would be well on her way to being intoxicated.

Actually, he realised with surprise, her alcoholic tolerance was one of the few things he did not know about her. It was just as well it was banned in Tehran; otherwise, he suspected that tonight he would have found out. He knew her about her childhood, which party she had voted for in the last several elections in France, her food preferences, her shoe size, that she always carried things in her right hand but wrote with her left. He would have to watch her and make sure she did not do anything that could jeopardise her career or relations between France and Iran.

Before anyone had finished their meal, Christine set her cutlery aside and glanced around the room unhappily. She looked as if the function was the last place in the world she wanted to be.

"Calm down, _asalam_," he warned her gently, his voice full of concern as he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips to kiss the back of her hand. She had appeared to enjoyed it when he kissed her hand at Jasmin's and hoped that he could distract her from whatever it was that was troubling her.

"Tell me, Christine, what do you think of the issue?" Josef, the German Ambassador asked from across the table.

She just shrugged, although she did not try to untangle her hand from Erik's. "I couldn't say. I was under the impression that I was here just so there was an even number of males and females."

Erik was instantly on alert and squeezed her hand in a warning gesture. She was smart enough to know she could not say something like this at a social function but she was clearly too distraught to care. It would be so easy for Leroy to take her comments the wrong way and fire her. If she wanted to be an ambassador in three years, she had to watch what she said and play the game carefully.

Fortunately, her host was not as worried. Leroy just laughed and touched her on the shoulder in a fatherly way. "Why are you suddenly so shy, Christine? You've shared your opinion quite openly on several occasions," he said with a laugh. "I think you have the makings of a fine ambassador one day."

Erik nodded to himself, relieved that the Ambassador was not offended by her comment. Christine may be too upset to realise the significance of that comment, but Erik was not. Now all he had to do was get her to calm down and stop jeopardising her career.

"Yes," Dmitri, the Russian Ambassador agreed. "I know your father very well and know he has raised you to think for yourself. I'm also interested in your opinion."

Christine smiled softly. "One day, when we have plenty of time, I will tell you. But not tonight. I've heard enough talk of politics and foreign policy. Besides"- she smiled sweetly and touched Erik quickly on the cheek – "I wouldn't want to bore Erik."

The three Ambassadors who had tried to cajole a response from Christine laughed.

When she excused herself to leave the table – no doubt to go to the toilet – Erik followed as he usually would. Normally, however, he would have stayed unobtrusively in the background, keeping an eye on her from a distance. Tonight, however, he had no intention of doing that.

Once they were alone and well out of earshot, he stormed up to her, violently grabbing her upper arm and spinning her around, sending her floor length dress swirling around her ankles. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I need to go to the toilet, Erik!" she snapped, pulling her arm out of his crushing grip and continuing on her way.

Erik would not be deterred. "That's not what I meant and you know it. You're being completely reckless. _Stop it!_ You know better than to speak like that when around so many people. One wrong word and your world and safety and career could come crashing down around your pretty head."

At that, Christine spun around to face her bodyguard, her chin pointed and a set down on her lips. But nothing came out. She just shook her head and continued on her way.

Erik had seen the hurt and insecurities in her pale blue eyes but she was gone before he could say anything, running the remaining distance to the toilet. He had no idea what had been said to her to cause that pain but if he ever found out who had caused her the hurt, he would make that person suffer. Confused by the wave of protectiveness that went beyond the usual feelings of a bodyguard, Erik waited for Christine to return.

* * *

Christine ignored Erik for the rest of the night. Usually she would ignore her bodyguards, knowing they were safely in the distance, watching over her. But she would give them the occasional look to assure them that everything was all right. After that lecture from Erik, Christine did a wonderful job of ignoring him – or trying to. It was a little hard when he was sitting next to her, pretending to be her husband.

Every time someone spoke to her, she felt him bristle. He never moved or betrayed any emotion, but she knew he was not happy with her behaviour. Consumed by sadness so strong she felt sick, Christine tried to avoid all conversation. How could she contribute when she was the only one who thought the current foreign policy was full of problems?

"You really don't care what I think. I'm sure whatever I think is just a silly, uninformed opinion of an assistant."

Beside her, she heard a soft growl of disapproval. Flicking a quick glance at her pseudo husband to see him openly frowning, Christine shrugged and took a sip of her _Sharbat_ with a feigned indifference, knowing it would infuriate him.

The dinner could not end soon enough for Christine, but finally the time came when she was able to return to Erik's apartment. Desperate to escape, Christine quickly left, Erik only two steps behind. Ignoring that Erik had to sweep the apartment for any threats, Christine immediately pushed past him and shut herself away in the bathroom, knowing that he would be doing a sweep of the rest of the apartment for assassins or bugs or bombs. For the first time since moving to Tehran, the minimalist style Erik had chosen felt homely and not austere. She felt fare safer in Erik's apartment than she did anywhere else.

It had been a horrible evening. First her closest colleague had criticised her for a comment she had made about an issue in the news. Then when she had tried to engage the diplomat next to her about the issue, opening the conversation with her own opinion, he had condescendingly told her not to worry her pretty little head about it, that as a woman, she should leave the worrying and the running of the world to men.

Having managed to somehow hold back the tears for the past three hours, they erupted in a loud wail. Her body racked with the sobs, Christine collapsed onto the bathmat and curled on her side, trying to protect herself from further pain.

"Christine!" Erik shouted, concern in his voice as he pushed open the bathroom door, clearly expecting to see her held at gunpoint. He held his own gun in his hands.

She opened her eyes at that and saw the tension leave his body as he placed the gun next to the sink when he saw she was not under attack. Then she closed her eyes as more tears flowed down her cheeks, wetting her hair and the mat beneath her.

"What is the problem?" he asked softly. Although it was not considered shameful for either men or women to cry so openly, Erik was uncomfortable having to deal with a very emotional Christine. At that moment, he knew he would do anything to never have to hear her cry alone in the bathroom again. He would only accept her singing in the bathroom.

He hunkered down beside her and brushed her hair from her face. "This is about the dinner? Who insulted you? Tell me and I'll make sure the man never works again."

"It doesn't matter," Christine muttered, wishing his tender touch did not console her as much as it did. Her Chinese bodyguard had never touched her with such care – particularly after that incident when she was twenty. When she turned twelve, the guard she had in Germany stopped treating her like a little girl and began to treat her like an adult. She missed the way that bodyguards could be so tender and caring.

"If you're this upset, it does." He still caressed her hair, reluctant to break the contact with her.

"It's my own fault," she confessed on a sniff.

"How is it your fault?" Erik demanded, his voice gruff at the thought that she was blaming herself.

It took a few moments for Christine to be able to talk. Erik waited patiently by her side. When the tears finally slowed, she sat up and grimaced at the streaks of mascara staining the white bathmat. "I know better than to speak my mind. The countries I've been don't like women being able to think for themselves. I can't help if I have an opinion about foreign policy that may not match the masses."

Erik's face darkened at her announcement. "None of this is your fault!" He gathered her into his arms, lifting her from the softness of the bathmat and carried her to her bed. Once he had her shoes off and tucked beneath the covers, he sat awkwardly beside her. "You should not have to hide your intelligence and pretend you're something that you're not, Christine. I know you are more than capable of thinking for yourself and I do not want you to change that. I want you to be able to speak as an equal… at least with me. I will never criticise you for speaking your mind."

Christine smiled weakly at Erik even as tears leaked from her eyes.

"Get some sleep." Erik rose from the bed after caressing her cheek one final time, wiping the mascara from her cheeks with his thumbs.

Before he could take a step away, Christine wrapped her hand around his wrist, preventing him from moving. "Will you stay with me until I'm asleep?"

"Of course," he promised softly, hiding his anxiety, as he returned to his spot on the edge of the bed, Christine's hand still clinging to his wrist.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Hezar Bouseh_**

So sorry for the delay between chapters. Life has been hectic, but I finally have time to update. To make up for the delay, I have an extra long chapter for you. Thank you all for your patience and reviews; it's always great to hear your thoughts.

**Chapter 6**

Christine sighed as she finished checking all the documents for yet another visa application. It seemed that everyone wanted to go to France and was getting visas. The poor Ambassador would be busy for the next few days processing applications. Her task done, Christine picked up the small bundle of files and headed for the door to her office.

Erik looked up at her.

"I'm just going to Leroy's office," she told him in a suffering tone. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

As she walked out of her office and around the corner to the Ambassador's, Christine shook her head. Erik really was taking his job of protecting her too far. She was allowed to go to Leroy's office alone – and anywhere else on her floor – but if she went to a different level of the building, Erik would follow her. If she was gone for more than ten minutes, Erik would go in search of her.

"Here are more visa applications," Christine said as she placed the files in the Ambassador's in-tray. "I'm sorry; I didn't know you were having lunch."

She began to back out of the room, reluctant to disturb Leroy's lunch which he was eating at his desk while he read the newspaper. She found it frustrating when her lunch was interrupted and tried never to do it to others.

"What do you think of this article, Christine?" Leroy asked, indicating the article in the French paper that was spread out across his desk. He picked up the page and handed it across the desk to her.

Christine was silent as she quickly read the article. "Relations are strained between Iran and France," Christine observed diplomatically when she had finished reading. "They are only going to get worse unless someone backs down."

Leroy looked sharply at her as if suddenly recalling that his personal assistant had grown up with ambassadors and foreign policies. He clearly had not been expecting such a forthright answer from her.

"Are you sure you won't soften your stance at all? I think that would save a lot of problems between the two countries in the future. But you can't always believe what you read; journalists are always going to put their own spin on things," she added hastily, worried that she had offended him by blaming him as the sole person responsible for the way situation had unfolded.

Leroy's fatherly face darkened at Christine question, but other than that, showed no outward sign of his anger. "We cannot back down, Miss Daaé. We must stand strong."

Dismissed, Christine quickly left his office before he could rail at her or accuse her of prying into things that did not concern her. Growing up with her father who was an ambassador, she had always been unusually aware of foreign policies and their consequences.

Back in her office, Christine closed the door with a comforting snap and rested against it, her eyes closed. That had been a lucky escape from the Ambassador. He could easily have taken offence at her question and fired her. When she opened her eyes a moment later, it was to have Erik standing directly in front of her, his blue eyes filled with concern.

"What happened?" he demanded, his body tense and ready for action. "Did he do something to you?"

Christine shook her head and placed a calming hand on his arm. He was always so quick to think the worst of others. "I made the mistake of discussing the situation between France and Iran with Leroy. I basically accused him of being pigheaded and completely to blame regarding his foreign policy and the deteriorating relations between France and Iran."

Erik winced at Christine's words, knowing that the Ambassador would not have liked his assistant – anybody – judging him.

"You would think after dinner last week I would have learnt to keep my mouth shut!" she cried out in frustration. She walked around him and threw herself into her chair causing it to slide back a few inches with the force.

Erik stood where she had left him, a silent wall of strength. Although he did not say anything, his concern for her was clear as he gazed down at her. He waited patiently for her to say something, but for once she was silent. When Christine did not speak, he crossed to her desk and sat down in the spare chair.

"Tell me, _asalam_, what you think of the Ambassador's foreign policy and how you would deal with the developing situation."

Christine stared at Erik for a full minute as if trying to decide if he was genuinely interested in what she had to say or if he was humouring her. She would always be able to speak her mind with Erik. Instinctively, she knew he would never judge her or belittle her opinion as one from a silly female. He valued everything she said and treated her thoughts and views with respect.

Deciding that he really was interested in her opinion, she sat forward with a tiny smile and began to tell him precisely how she thought Leroy should be handling the situation

* * *

Christine looked around in surprise as Erik's female relatives surrounded her. He had all but dragged her to his cousin's wedding, insisting that he would not miss it because of her. So, Christine found herself in the midst of festivities she knew nothing about – she promised herself that she would read up on traditional Iranian weddings as soon as she could – and people she had never met before.

She felt so uncomfortable being surrounded by women she did not know. She wanted to blame Erik for putting her in a situation where she felt so out of her depth. No matter how uncertain she felt surrounded by his family, she could not blame him for wanting to be with them at his cousin's wedding. And as his wife, she would have been expected to attend with him.

What annoyed her most about Erik's family was the way that many ignored him or stared at him all because he wore a mask. Only two men – one who Christine knew was his father – he had the same strong square jaw – and his mother and Dorri did not go out of their way to avoid him. It angered Christine that he was being treated so rudely when she was convinced he had done nothing to deserve it. She could not understand why people were so judgemental just because he looked different. If they were able to look past their prejudice and get to know him, they would see that he was a caring person who put her needs far above his own.

It had taken very little effort to pick out Erik's mother; her pale skin and dark blue eyes were easily noticeable. Earlier that day, in the privacy of his own apartment, Erik had introduced Christine to his mother and the woman Christine had discovered was the groom's sister.

"Mama, Dorri, I would like you to meet Christine," Erik had introduced his mother and cousin to Christine as he held out a chair for her sit down. Once Christine was seated, Erik took the seat next to her.

She had to smile at the touch of old world manners. That was probably something his mother had taught him. Villette was probably also responsible for raising her son with a respectfulness and understanding towards others and their opinions. She definitely brought a bit of France and French attitudes into her family and son.

The four spoke animatedly for a few minutes while Rashid stood in the corner of the room, carefully watching his son and Christine interact. He did not miss the way Christine looked at him or when Erik touched her tenderly on the back of her neck, underneath her headscarf, before leaving the table to speak to his father.

"Erik tells me you enjoy shopping," Villette said calmly, pulling Christine's attention back to her surroundings. Her dark eyes sparkling, Christine was sure she knew she had tried to sneak out of the apartment on her own. It was clear that Erik and his mother were close; she would not have been surprised if he had told her everything.

"And also the museums and galleries," Christine agreed unable to hold back a guilty smile as she looked around her at the crowd of women.

She was sitting with Dorri and Villette. The other women seemed reluctant to approach her and if it had not been for Erik's wise decision to introduce her to his mother and cousin a few hours earlier, Christine was sure she would have been sitting alone. As she fell into a comfortable conversation with the two women, Christine realised that Erik had introduced them earlier out of a need to see her safe. He could not be by her side, so he had given her care to two people he clearly trusted.

"The galleries?" Dorri piped up, her dark brown eyes alight with excitement. "I'm studying art at the university here. I love going to the galleries. Have you seen the Peacock Throne at the Golestan Palace? It's beautiful. I often go there and just stare at it for inspiration."

"I've been to the Palace before, but I've never paid much attention to the throne," Christine confessed, embarrassed. "Maybe one day we can go and you can tell me what it is that you like so much." She gave the younger woman a nervous smile, surprised at her suggestion.

To Christine's confusion, Villette smiled secretly.

When Dorri decided to go and dance and Villette had been dragged away by her sister-in-law, Christine found herself alone at the table and let her mind wander.

She had asked Dorri out as if they had been friends for years. Normally so cautious against making friends and relationships that would not last, Christine was surprised by the way she had laughed and talked so comfortably with Dorri and Villette. Despite being a few years younger, Christine was sure she and Dorri would become friends, and for once, that thought did not fill her with dread.

As for Villette, she reminded Christine of the mother she had lost when she had been only six. Villette had a way of looking at her that made Christine feel as if she knew all her secrets, everything that she had done to annoy Erik and the sudden shift in her feelings that had occurred last week after the banquet. She could tell just by looking at her that Villette loved her son, despite the fact he wore a mask.

Christine had looked in her medical books but had no idea what it was that Erik was hiding. It could have been a rare genetic disorder or even a birthmark that he was ashamed of. Maybe it had been caused in the army. Whatever the cause, it was clear that Villette loved him and that was exactly what Erik needed. He was lucky to have a mother who loved him as deeply as Villette did. Christine sighed, missing her mother in a way she had not in years.

Feeling self-conscious sitting alone, Christine wandered out of the room of women and into the hallway, headed for the balcony, desperate for some fresh air and a space where it would not matter that she had no one to talk to. Her thoughts miles away, she stopped in the hallway to adjust the strap of her shoe that was feeling too tight. Suddenly uncomfortable, Christine pulled herself from her thoughts and glanced around the almost deserted passage, certain she was being watched.

She looked around and finally saw a man standing at the opposite side of the room – in front of the doors to the balcony – staring at her intently. She had no idea who he was, or whether he was on the bride or groom's side. Her gaze darkened stubbornly, refusing to be cowered, but it only seemed to amuse him.

Uncertain, Christine pushed away from the wall and walked towards the room the men occupied but more importantly towards Erik and the safety he offered. The man followed her with his gaze for a few moments before he began to stalk after her, taking longer strides and quickly closing the distance between them. Just when she was considering breaking into a run to escape the man, she caught sight of Erik standing just inside the doorway.

Immediately, he was out in the hall with her, staring down into her frightened, pale eyes. "_Asalam_, what is it?" He shifted so he could touch his hand reassuringly to her cheek without being seen and then glanced down the hallway for the cause of her alarm.

Christine shook her head. Now that she was beside Erik she no longer felt as frightened. She glanced around, looking for the man who had been following her but could not find him. He was gone, she assured herself as she took comfort in the feeling of Erik's fingers stroking her cheek. She had no idea where he had gone but he would not bother her again.

She stepped even closer to Erik's warmth, surprising herself. She had not trusted her bodyguard in years and she certainly did not expect to trust Erik the way she already did. She was so aware of him that she could feel every inch of his skin pressed against hers.

Ever since her second bodyguard in China had left her alone, a kilometre from the embassy where she was going to see her father, when she had inadvertently caused him to lose his temper, she had trouble trusting them. It may not have been his fault that she had been kidnapped but they both knew he should never have left her alone. She blamed him for being kidnapped and since then, struggled trusting her protectors completely.

"It was nothing," she lied, feeling far too safe.

* * *

"I'm going swimming," Christine informed Erik as he sat in the armchair one hot summer's day a week or two after his cousin's wedding. "I can't do anything in this heat."

Erik's face fell and he looked at Christine with a cold disapproval that caused her to shiver despite the heat. She looked at him, daring him to say something but he remained silent. The air conditioning, which was struggling to cool the apartment in the heat, whirred softly, the only noise in the entire apartment. Convinced she had, for once, got her own way without argument, Christine walked past him, intending to get changed so she could go to one of the public swimming pools. Erik gripped her arm to stop her from leaving but Christine just violently pulled her arm out of his grip.

"You're not going."

"You can't stop me! I'm tired of having you follow me around like a little puppy dog. It's the middle of summer; I'm not used to heat like this. Even the air conditioning can't cope! It's a good ten degrees hotter here than in Paris! At home, I would spend the day in the pool on a day like this. I want to go swimming. I need to escape this heat."

"You have no idea what happens at pools, Christine. Just because men are not allowed near women's pools does not mean they will not do almost anything to take advantage of an unsuspecting woman. I won't allow that to happen to you. You deserve more than that. I will not allow you to go somewhere where I cannot be there to protect you. You have only to look at what happened at your eighteenth birthd-"

Erik suddenly fell silent. But it was too late. Christine knew he knew something that he was not telling her.

"What do you mean I only have to look at what happened at my eighteenth birthday? What does that have to do with getting drunk? We're talking about men not about alcohol."

"It has everything to do with men and absolutely nothing to do with alcohol!" he informed her sharply. "I know you went out to celebrate and believe you got so drunk you woke up in your bed with no recollection of what happened the night before."

"Do you think I don't know this, Erik? I was there; I lived it. I was the one with the headache!"

"What you don't know, _asalam_"- there was nothing loving about the endearment –"Is that you weren't drunk. You were drugged." His voice was tight as he imagined the pain that her bodyguard must have felt, knowing he was responsible for Christine almost being raped. He was sure he would be unable to continue acting as a bodyguard when Morid had died. It would not be a stretch to think that the man blamed himself for allowing Christine to be drugged.

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not and you know I wouldn't lie about something like this. You were drugged and you were probably going to be raped if your bodyguard hadn't been there, keeping an eye on you. He knew the moment something was wrong and took you home. You passed out and have no recollection of the night.

"That's why your father is determined to keep you safe. That is why I do not want you out of my sight. I've failed before and I don't want anything to happen to you." He was silent for a moment as if deciding whether he should say what was on his mind. He was not ready to tell her about Morid. He just hoped she had not heard what he said. "I care about you more than I should, Christine. If anything happens to you I will never forgive myself." Forgetting everything he had ever known, Erik reached out to touch Christine's cheek.

Christine's eyes darkened at Erik's words as if she was aware that he was not saying what he wanted. "Why are you being so controlling? None of my other bodyguards have ever been so controlling. Why, Erik? You don't do that to people you care about."

"I'm harsh because I care about you." He reached out to touch her cheek, knowing that she needed the physical contact as much as he did. Also, he wanted to touch her to prove to her that he did care about her. Only allowing himself a quick caress, which was more than he should ever have done, than was permitted in society, he pulled his hand away. "More than is wise."

Staying silent, Christine gazed at Erik. She knew how hard it had been for him to touch her. He was going against everything he knew and had been taught just to touch her and to do his job. That was all she needed to know that he cared for her. That was all she needed to know that she loved him.

_She loved him, _she realised in surprise. She wanted to reach out and cover his hand but did not because she knew the anguish that would cause him. He was tormented by his position as her bodyguard and what he knew he should be doing – which certainly was not living with a woman he was not related to. There was also something else that was worrying him but she had no idea what it was.

Christine said nothing for a few moments as she considered where she and Erik stood. She was not sure he loved her, he cared for, but she did not know if it was love. It was his concern for her that ruled everything that he did. That was why he did not want her going to the swimming pool. Everything he did was out of concern for her.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" she asked softly after a while.

"It was a traumatic experience. Your eighteenth birthday should have been a celebration. You should have believed you ended up ill because you were having such a good time not because some cruel person wanted to hurt you. Your father was just trying to look after you."

"That's why you won't let me go," she guessed. "You're just trying to protect me?"

"That's all I ever try to do, Christine. I worry about you. All I ever do is try to protect you from other men and harm."

Christine smiled at Erik's confession and unable to help herself, touched his cheek. "What if I go to Mother's Paradise then? There are female guards there and no one can see in. Apparently not even planes flying overhead can see in," she added, amazed that so much planning had gone into the project. "Unless a woman has something against me there's no risk."

It was clear Erik wanted to protest. He did not like the thought of Christine being away from him where he could not protect her. After a moment of thought he nodded. "I won't be able to go inside. I'll have to wait for you outside the gates with the other male guards. You're to take your phone with you and check in with me every thirty minutes."

Christine solemnly swore she would do exactly as he asked.

"Why don't you call Dorri and see if she would like to join you?" Erik asked casually. He would feel a lot better if she had someone with her. "She'd probably enjoy getting away from her studies for a while."

Accepting that was as close she was going to get to approval from Erik, Christine smiled happily and rushed to her room to pull on her Manteau and headscarf after calling Dorri who eagerly agreed. Today she did not mind pulling on the modest clothes; the moment she passed through the gates they would come off.

* * *

Inside Mother's Paradise, Christine and Dorri stretched out on deckchairs in the sun. Dorri was busy sketching what she saw while Christine was reading a French novel. Both were dressed only in a pair of shorts and a sleeveless top. Christine's headscarf, her thick stockings and Manteau were folded neatly by her side, along with her mobile phone.

Around them, women ran, cycled and picnicked, looking more like the women in Paris than women in Tehran. It felt so nice to feel like a normal woman that Christine knew she was going to come back. She would have to give Erik a little more notice of her plans so he would not faint with anxiety. If Dorri had not agreed to go with her, she was not sure he would have given in. Somehow he thought having his cousin there would be better than if Christine had gone alone. Maybe he thought Dorri would be a stable influence on her.

So wrapped up in her book, it took Christine a few moments to realise her phone was ringing. Reluctantly pulling her attention from the pages, she picked up her phone and winced when she saw Erik's number.

"Hello, Erik," she greeted him with extra sweetness.

"You were meant to call me ten minutes ago," he said curtly.

Able to hear Erik's sharp tone, Dorri covered her mouth with her hand to keep her giggles from being heard. Christine glanced at her and rolled her eyes.

So this was what it felt like to have a girlfriend, she realised with a smile. Despite being three years younger, Dorri was great company and had similar values and attitudes to Christine. As long as the embassy did not transfer her to another city, Christine was sure she and Dorri would be friends for a long time.

"Why didn't you call me?" Erik continued when Christine took too long answering.

Despite herself, Christine smiled. She had finally figured Erik out. Before today, she would have resisted his sharp tone and demands. She would have begun arguing with him. But now that she knew he was doing it because he cared – maybe even loved her – she was able to understand his demands were just concern.

"I'm sorry, Erik. I just lost track of time."

"Christine-"

"I know. I'm sorry, but I'm perfectly safe."

"You're sure? I was about to come through those gates to make sure you hadn't been harmed."

"I'm fine, Erik," she promised with a laugh. "And so is Dorri. When I've finished my book – and Dorri's finished her sketch – we'll come out. I promise I'll call you in half an hour if we're not out."

Disconnecting from the call, Christine looked at Dorri who was still struggling to hide her amusement and broke into peals of laughter. "He's impossible," she said, wiping amused tears from eyes. She shook her head.

"He loves you," Dorri replied looking closely at Christine over the top of her sunglasses, eager to see how she would react to the observation.

For a full minute, Christine could only stare at Dorri. How was it possible that his cousin could see what she was only just now beginning to suspect? Was it that obvious? Apparently. She struggled to find something to say.

"You didn't know, did you?" Dorri asked, astounded that although she was married to her cousin, Christine did not know that Erik loved her.

Christine shook her head. "Erik and I aren't really married, Dorri." And before she could stop herself, Christine explained everything to Dorri – from growing up overseas to Erik acting as her bodyguard and pretending to be her husband so he would be able to be with her without suspicion.

It took a few minutes for this all to sink in and for Dorri to recover from her shock. "It's so obvious that he loves you. And I know you-" she broke off, embarrassed. She was not sure if Christine was ready to accept that she loved Erik. She quickly readjusted her glasses. "Aunt Villette and I noticed at my brother's wedding," she continued.

"You did?" Christine squeaked.

Dorri nodded. "I saw the way he touched you when he thought no one was looking. And I have never seen him like this. When you were about to walk through the gates, he looked so terrified as if you were leaving him forever. He worries so much that it's clear he loves you."

"Well, then, Dorri, you need to tell your cousin that being demanding isn't the best way to prove his love to a woman," Christine murmured after a few moments silence as she struggled to find words. Her face, she was sure, was bright red. Hopefully she would be able to convince Dorri she was just sunburnt, but somehow she doubted she would believe her.

Indicating that the conversation was at an end, Christine pulled open her book. Twenty minutes later, Christine and Dorri headed back to the gates where they had left Erik, dressed once again in jeans, Manteau and headscarf. She could see Erik waiting for her, the left side of his face strained. But the moment he saw her, his face eased into a smile and his body relaxed.

Maybe Dorri was right. Maybe he did love her. There was no way someone who did not love her could be so worried. None of her other guards worried about her the way Erik did. And she knew for a fact that none of them loved her. As she looked at Erik, only metres away, she was almost certain that he did.

They were only a few metres away from the gates when Christine was knocked over by a guard who was running after something, Christine did not know what. The guard did not stop, although she did look back apologetically at Christine. Dorri was too shocked by the careless act to react. She had no idea what to do.

"Are you all right, _asalam_?" Erik asked, risking everything by taking a few steps into Mother's Paradise to pull Christine to her feet and support her outside so he could ensure she was not injured. He gripped Dorri around her upper arm and pulled her out.

The first time he had called her that, Christine had been furious. But she had become accustomed to it. She also knew when he was saying it to annoy her and when he meant it. This was one of the times when he had meant it. Whenever he used it as it was meant, as an endearment, his dark eyes softened and he said it in a tone of pure affection, so sweet it was like chocolate.

The other guards at the entry looked disapprovingly at Erik, Christine and Dorri, but Erik did not care. All he cared about was that the two women were all right. He did have enough sense to pull away from her once he was sure she could stand on her own.

"Are you okay, _asalam_? Are you injured at all? You haven't grazed your hands? What about you, Dorri?"

"I'm fine, Erik." She reached out to touch his arm in a reassuring way but he stepped away before she could touch him. There was something she had to tell him, a decision she had made while she was reading, but it was best that she waited until Dorri was back at her home and they were back at Erik's apartment. She had been thinking a lot about her former bodyguard and decided the time had finally come to tell Erik.

After Erik had returned Dorri to her home and done a sweep of his apartment, he ushered Christine inside and pulled her into his arms, relieved that she went willingly. He ran his hand over her cheeks and then raised her hands to his eyes, palms up, to ensure she had not grazed them when she fell. He needed to be sure she was unharmed.

"Erik, I've been thinking," Christine began, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace, "It's bad enough I have to rely on someone to protect me. I hate that I have absolutely no independence. I can't go anywhere without you following me. I don't want to be completely incapable of defending myself if I have to," she finished in a heartbroken tone.

"I need to find a way to look after myself. I've always had a bodyguard here to deal with any issues. But it's time for me to learn how to look after myself."

"You don't trust me to look after you," Erik accused sadly, aware of his inability to look after her.

"It's not that – precisely." Christine sighed. She had not expected telling Erik about that time she was kidnapped would be so difficult. "When I was twenty, I was going through a bit of a rebellious stage and wanted my independence. I didn't want to always have a bodyguard with me." She paused as she thought back to that time.

"My guard and I were on our way to visit Papa at the embassy when I pushed him too far. He snapped. He was so angry at me he just left me standing alone in the street."

"He left you without any protection?" Erik demanded furiously, his face darkening with rage. "What happened?"

"I decided to walk to the embassy but was kidnapped. It was terrible; I was tied up and not given anything to eat. It took two days to find me. From that moment, I didn't think I could ever trust a bodyguard again." Tears filled her eyes but she was determined not to let them fall. Erik took Christine's hands in his, silently offering her the strength to continue. "The one person I was supposed to trust with my life had just abandoned me!"

Erik remained silent for a long time as he took in Christine's story, understanding her need to look after herself. He knew the story of her kidnapping when she was twenty but he had no idea she had been left unprotected because her bodyguard could not control his temper. That was something the dossier had left out. He could understand why it took her so long to trust him. Finally he sighed. "I'll teach you how to use a gun. My parents live near Qom. I'll take you there and teach you how to use a weapon."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Hezar Bouseh **_

**Chapter 7**

Erik spent a great deal of time planning the route he would take to Qom. The trip he had made numerous times from his own home in Tehran to Qom was second nature. But with Christine, he had to find the fastest and safest route to his parents' home. He never had spent so much time worrying about such a trivial thing.

The route was not the only thing weighing on his mind. He kept replaying Christine's confession. She had been abandoned by her bodyguard and had lost all trust in him and others. Right when she needed him the most, the other man had been nowhere to be found. Erik would never forgive him for that and nor it seemed would Christine. That kidnapping explained a lot.

He was not sure how she would feel if she ever found out that he had killed Morid. She would probably hate him as much as she hated that mysterious Chinese bodyguard. Five years on and it was obvious that she still blamed him. It was clear that she did not forgive easily. She could never know about Morid because if she did, Erik would lose her trust and that, he realised dazedly, was the most important thing to him. He had to keep that truth from her just as he kept everyone else from harming her.

If anyone dared lay a hand on her, he would kill him or her. He would do anything necessary to make sure she was unharmed. Her faith in him and her safety were the most important things to him. No one would come between Christine and him.

The overly protective urge surprised him. Actually, it was beyond any of the protective urges he had experienced with other cases and bordered on possessive. He cared for Christine more than he ever had cared for another person. It was a possessiveness he had seen in his father.

Erik paused when he realised why he was treating Christine so differently, why he was showing that same possessiveness his father showed when he was with his mother. He was falling in love with Christine. It was the worst thing he could do, but he had no idea how to stop it. He was not even sure he _wanted _to stop it

* * *

Away from Erik's parents' farmhouse on the outskirts of Qom, Christine listened as he ran through the correct way to load and hold the gun. They had made the two-hour journey from Tehran to Qom in tense silence.

Erik had appeared perfectly calm as he drove them from the city as if teaching a woman how to use a gun was a normal occurrence. For once, he did not seem disturbed by the fact that he was breaking tradition by driving in a car alone with a woman. He seemed completely at ease with their pseudo marriage and was certain he would be able to convince anyone who pulled him over that Christine was his wife. Christine, however, was not so relaxed. She sat in the seat beside Erik, her hands clenched until her knuckles were white. As she thought of what was ahead of her, learning how to shoot a gun, her throat tightened with anxiety and even if she had wanted to talk she would not have been able.

Now, she was standing in the summer sun, a gun in her hand, trying to take in everything that Erik told her. Her brain was overloaded with information she doubted she would remember any of it in a few minutes. The gun was heavy and awkward, making Christine feel uncomfortable.

"Hold your gun in your left hand, support it in your right. Aim for the barrel over there. When you're ready, pull the trigger."

Christine nodded, squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the trigger. Not expecting the recoil, her arm flew back, frightening a squeak from her. She dropped the gun and turned to Erik.

"I can't do it. I just can't."

"You can," he assured her calmly as he picked up the gun and placed it in her hands, wrapping his hands around hers. "You wanted to learn how to protect yourself and, I admit, I'd feel better knowing that you can defend yourself. I spend too much time worrying about your safety, Christine. If I know you can look after yourself, then maybe I wouldn't worry so much about you."

"You worry about me?" Christine asked, suddenly breathless.

"All the time. Now, before I die from worry, focus and learn how to shoot the gun."

Christine wanted to protest against the way he ordered her around. But realising that this was something that she wanted, she wisely stayed silent. His worry for her wellbeing and safety touched her.

Her hands were shaking beneath Erik's. Maybe this was not a good idea. She was not even sure she would be able to shoot someone. She could not even remember a time when she had killed a spider. If it came down to shooting someone or surviving, she was not sure what she would do.

"Erik-"

"You can do this, _asalam_. You've proved to me over and over again that you can learn anything. I cannot think of another Frenchwoman who is fluent in Persian, can speak four other languages and wants to learn how to use a gun. Think of learning how to use a gun as another skill – just like learning a language."

Bolstered by Erik's words, Christine nodded, prepared to try again.

Neither said anything as Erik stood behind Christine, his chest pressed against her back, his arms around her body as he corrected her stance and helped her aim for the barrel. The warmth of his body seeped into hers, warming her even further in the warmth of the sunny afternoon. His lips next to her ear, he spoke her through every step so she knew what was happening and why.

Christine's heartbeat sped up. His lips were so close she could feel his breath stirring the hair that had escaped from her headscarf. All she would have to do was turn her head and she could kiss him. Surprised by how much pleasure that thought gave her, she would have dropped the gun if Erik's hands had not been covering hers. His grip tightened, focusing her.

"When you're ready, pull the trigger. I'll help you support the recoil," he ordered softly once he had steadied her grip on the gun. "Make sure you keep your eyes open. You need to make sure you hit whatever it is that you're aiming for."

Christine did as instructed and this time, when she pulled the trigger, she did not scream. With Erik's arms around her, there was nothing to fear

* * *

Christine thought learning how to use a gun was frightening enough. It was nothing compared to spending time with Erik's parents. Erik had ushered her into the farmhouse after her lesson and at his mother's urging, had sat her down for a glass of traditional _abdugh_, a watered yoghurt drink and mixed with salt and spearmint.

Sitting opposite Villette, Christine felt Erik position himself behind her chair in a protective and possessive gesture. He rested his hand on the back of her chair, so close that his knuckles brushed against her shoulder. Without thought, Christine leaned into his touch, delighting in the feelings that were overcoming her. Everyday she was becoming more attracted to him. She longed to stand, wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him, putting an end to the feelings that had been becoming increasingly had to ignore. But she could do nothing with his mother there, watching them.

Recalling that Erik's cousin and mother both were convinced that she and Erik were in love, Christine glanced at Villette in time to see her smile knowingly. She must have seen her reaction to Erik's touch. Luckily for them, she was French enough not to comment.

"Where is _Pedar_?" Erik asked in Persian, aware that his father would not join Christine and his mother. Despite marrying a Frenchwoman, his father was quite traditional when it came to the relationships between men and women. Rashid would allow Villette to do almost anything, say anything to him, but he still insisted that some of his Iranian traditions be upheld in the house, despite the influence of his French wife.

"He's outside. You had best join him, Erik, he would not approve of you staying here with Christine. And be prepared for a lecture, _bébé_," Villette warned, her dark blue eyes, so much like her son's, dark with foreboding.

Erik sighed grimly, already aware of the nature of the reprimand he was about to get. He allowed himself a final luxury of caressing Christine's shoulder and left the house.

Once the two women were alone, Villette helped Christine remove her headscarf before speaking animatedly in French, asking how the weapons lesson went and exclaiming her surprise that a woman had been taught how to use a weapon. When Christine commented that it really should not be such a surprise since she was a Frenchwoman, Villette smiled.

"I have lived here since I married Rashid. The culture has become second nature to me. It bothered me to begin with," she admitted. "I cannot tell you how frustrating I found it when we were dating. All I wanted was to be alone with him but I couldn't. But I learnt to accept it, particularly if I wanted to be with Rashid. Besides, once we were married it was all right.

"Just because I moved across the world to be with Rashid did not mean I had to forget my own upbringing and culture. It's about joining French and Iranian cultures, not about one overshadowing the other. Erik is much a Frenchman as he is Iranian. I have done my best to teach him to respect others regardless of their thoughts or religion."

Christine just shook her head. "It all seems ridiculous that Erik and I can't be alone together even though he's just doing his job and protecting me. He's my bodyguard! What can be so wrong with that? He's just a bodyguard."

Villette nodded as she took a sip of her _abdugh_, not believing a single, protesting word Christine said.

* * *

"_Pedar."_

Rashid looked up from his task of weeding when he heard Erik call out to him. He flicked his son a disapprovingly look and then turned his attention back to his task.

Erik knew not to say anything while his father was in one of these moods. It would not be long before his father lectured him as he often when he had been a teenager. He was not quite the same doting father he had been while Erik was a child, but that had only changed because he had grown up. Through those stern talks, Erik had the knowledge that he was responsible for the protection of the family's honour drilled into him.

"Why did you accept the position of bodyguard for a woman when you knew you be spending a lot of time alone with her?" Rashid asked quietly.

"Her father requested my protection. He thought Mama's French genes would help with his daughter. It also helps that I can speak French fluently. Apparently Charles had no idea his daughter can speak Persian."

Rashid shook his head, not at all impressed. His brown eyes were filled with disapproval. "Are you sure you're acting as a bodyguard, Erik?" he asked. "I saw the two of you together while you were teaching her to use a weapon. You are well aware that you should not be touching her. You're lucky it was only your mother and I who saw you and no one else.

"I don't want you to forget the way we raised you. I sometimes think I let your mother raise you less as an Iranian and more as a Frenchman." Rashid shook his head. "You should not even be spending time alone with a woman you are not related to. Pretending to be married to her does not justify it! What will you do if the _Niroye Entenzami_ approaches you, asking about your relationship with Christine?"

Erik said nothing as he recalled the time that law enforcement had stopped him and Christine and checked their papers. His father would not approve of the lengths he had gone to in order to ensure that Christine was safe. Rashid would not be happy to know that Erik had a forged marriage certificate.

"It is your responsibility to protect the Milani honour and also Christine's," Rashid continued. "Spending so much time with her will dishonour both our families. She is the treasure of her family. Do not do anything that could bring disgrace to either our families."

* * *

Christine stepped into the apartment behind Erik and stood by the door as he did his usual sweep. She was hot and tired and felt filthy after an afternoon learning how to shoot a gun that she hoped never to use. Leaning against the wall, she pulled off her headscarf, boots – she would have worn sandals in the summer heat but Erik ordered her to wear enclosed shoes – and then began to unbutton her Manteau.

"It's all clear. You can-" Erik returned from his sweep of the apartment in time to see Christine drop the top on the armchair. He could not help but stare at her; she wore nothing but her snug-fitting jeans and a white and gold bra. He had heard stories of women not wearing tops beneath the Manteau in the middle of summer but this was the first time he had seen evidence.

He wanted to gaze at her body and the curve of her breasts as they peaked out the top of her bra. More than gazing, he wanted to run his fingers over the skin, which looked like cream and would probably feel like silk. Uncomfortable, he walked away from her to the kitchen to pour two glasses of water and turn down the air conditioning.

Suddenly realising that she was not wearing a top and was the cause of Erik's discomfort, Christine went to her bedroom and pulled on a loose-fitting top that left her arms bare and swapped her jeans for a skirt that stopped well above her knees. Her summery look tormented him.

"I'm sorry, Erik," she apologised when she joined him in the kitchen, noting that he had changed his long sleeved shirt for a t-shirt.

"Make sure you always carry a gun with you, Christine. It should hide nicely beneath your Manteau," he said, his face pink, unable to look at her. "It won't be enough to stop someone from harming you, but it should buy you some time to get away."

"I said I was sorry, Erik," she said in Persian, hoping speaking in his first language would calm him. "Would you like me to put the Manteau back on?"

"No!" He looked up at her with dark, wild eyes. "There's no need for you to be uncomfortable in your own home."

Christine smiled and walked around to where Erik was standing, still tense. She wrapped her hands around his upper arms in the same way he often did with her and gazed into his eyes. "Thank you for teaching me how to use a gun. I know I'm not the easiest of students – or charges – but I'm happy I'm not completely incapable of protecting myself."

Erik chuckled and shook his head, his own hands closing convulsively around Christine's upper arms. "I did it for myself," he admitted as he stroked his thumb over her soft skin. "I was just so terrified at the thought of something happening to you that I needed to know that you can protect yourself if I can't be there."

"You'll always be there, Erik," she informed in confidently. "I don't doubt it. You're the only bodyguard I've had who I completely trust with my life… and my heart."

"_What?" _

"I love you, Erik," she said so there could be no confusion in his mind. When he did not answer, Christine hung her head. "I understand if you don't feel the same. I've caused you so much trouble."

It was not possible for him to love her. She had been such a nuisance that it would not have been surprising if he hated her. She had believed Dorri when she told her that Erik loved her. She had listened and put too much faith in Erik's cousin's observation. It would have been better for Christine to trust her instincts rather than believing what she had been told.

Erik hands were still around Christine's arms and he tightened them when she tried to push out of his grip. "There is an unspoken rule when it comes to being a bodyguard."

"What is it?" she prompted when he looked as if he was not going to continue.

"Never fall in love with your charge."

"Oh." Her face fell and she pressed her hands against his chest, trying again to push out of his embrace.

"But I've broken that rule. I fell in love with you long ago, _eshghe man. _When you slipped out of the apartment to go to the museum, that was when I knew I loved you and that you were the perfect woman for me."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Hezar Bouseh**_

To celebrate the opening of _Love Never Dies_ in Melbourne tomrrow night, I present an extra special and extra long chapter of _Hezar Bouseh_. It contains a few spoilers from _Love Never Dies_, so please be careful if you're spoiler-allergic. This was my favourite chapter to write, so enjoy and read with an open mind.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

"You called me _eshghe man_," Christine said a few hours later after they had eaten dinner and cleaned up the kitchen.

Neither had spoken during the meal, but they had shared numerous looks. Erik's dark blue eyes were filled with his love for Christine that he no longer had to hide and a passion that he was struggling to control. He had been lost in less than pleasant thoughts. Christine, her face bright with happiness and love, seemed completely unaware of what he was thinking.

Erik was silent. He just hoped that no one would ever find out that he was spending so much time with her when they were in love. But as long as he remained professional – at least in public – no one would know. But his father's words still rang in his ears. He could not do anything that could ruin her reputation – or the Milani.

"I haven't come across that in my reading. What does that mean?" she asked, pulling Erik's thoughts back to the present.

"_Eshghe man_ means my love." He ran a hand through her hair, marvelling at the way the silken strands slipped through his fingers. Never before could he understand why women's hair was considered erotic, but with Christine he could. It was beautiful and it was his – she was his.

Christine smiled. "_Eshghe man. _You're _eshghe man._"

* * *

The Ambassador's plan was perfectly simple.

First, he had to infiltrate the President's staff with some of his closest and most trusted colleagues. That should not be too difficult. He already had a few men and a few positions in mind.

Once they were in place, he would continue paying the President's assistant for the diary information that he desperately needed to put his plan into action. From there, it was just a matter of waiting for the perfect opportunity.

He would also have to keep an eye on his staff in the embassy and make sure they knew nothing. He could not have them learning something and ruining his plans or prying where they did not belong.

When the President was dead the foreign policy would die with him.

* * *

Erik woke just after five when he heard someone walking softly through the apartment. Instantly on alert, he climbed from his bed and grabbed his gun. Quietly, he opened his bedroom door, forgetting both his shirt and his mask in his haste to get to Christine's side.

Things had been progressing well. Now that the truth about their love for each other was out in the open, they no longer felt the need to hide. For the last three days they had been acting like a perfect couple, curling up on the couch together after work, kissing and touching whenever they were alone. Erik would often run his hand through Christine's silky hair or give her a shy kiss as he passed her in the hallway. She tormented, just as his mother used to torment his father, by changing out of her _Hijab_ into something fashionable and usually revealing. Out in public Erik was the perfect bodyguard, standing close enough to keep an eye on her but never touch her.

They still slept in separate rooms. Despite Christine's annoyance, Erik refused to give in to her arguments. He would not make love to her until they were married –properly. He did not want to face his father's disapproval if he ever found out. And the consequences if anyone found out they were making love would be disastrous for both of them. So, every night, Erik would walk Christine to her bedroom, kiss her good night and wait outside in the hallway until he could no longer see the light glowing under the door.

Stepping out of his bedroom and walking down the dim hall, his senses on edge, Erik stopped and held his gun, ready to shoot whoever was in Christine's apartment. He would kill anyone who tried to hurt her. There was a noise coming from the bathroom, which made no sense. The light flooded out from under the door and Erik could see someone moving around in there.

The bathroom door opened and Erik prepared to shoot. But stopped at the last second.

Christine stepped out of the bathroom, her body wrapped in only a dark blue towel that contrasted against her pale skin. Embarrassed, he looked away and dropped his gun to his side. His embarrassment doubled when he realised that he had forgotten his shirt.

"What are you doing up?" he asked harshly. He had nearly shot her. She usually never surfaced from her bedroom before six-thirty. The last thing he had ever expected was for her to be up – and apparently planning to have a shower – at five in the morning.

"I couldn't sleep so I decided to have a shower – I don't think the air con's working properly. I forgot my underwear," she explained when she saw that he had not looked at her again.

Briefly, Erik looked at her only to have his face turn red and look away for a second time. He was embarrassed to see her so scantily clad. He had never been around a woman with so little clothes on he had no idea how to react. "You're okay?" he asked, his gaze on the carpet.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to wake you." She smiled softly and boldly raised her left hand to touch the right side of his face.

Erik was horrified when he felt her soft skin against his own mangled flesh. His body went cold with fear. She was touching him. No one had touched his face since he was eight. Christine had seen him without his mask and was not frightened. Instead of running away as most people seemed to do when they saw his face she simply touched his cheek as if it were the most natural thing.

His mother told him that, one day, someone who loved him could look at him and not be frightened by his face. She had proved that on numerous occasions. Villette was a loving mother who had done all she could to ensure that her only child was not discriminated against or ostracised as a boy growing up in Qom.

When he turned eight, he refused to allow anyone to look beneath his mask. He had been teased and abused at school one day so badly that Erik had been truant for a week. Villette had spent a lot of time with her little boy, supporting him and reassuring him that not everyone would be cruel. She assured him that he would find himself a woman to love.

"One day, _bébé_, you find a woman who will look at your face and see only the beautiful man I know you will become. A woman who loves you will not faint or call your names or hurt you. Believe me, _bébé_, there is a woman who will love you for you – just as I love you."

"I'm sorry, I woke you," Christine said again as, gripping her towel tightly with her right hand, she kissed him lightly on his right cheek. "Go back to sleep while you can."

Erik waited for Christine to return to the bathroom and start singing before slowly wandering back to his room, thoughts of Christine's body still in his mind. In fact, the image had been burned there. He wanted to pull off that towel and see what curves were hidden beneath. He wanted to keep her by his side forever, and never allow another man to touch her or see her naked. He wanted to keep Christine for himself.

* * *

It was early afternoon and Erik was sitting by the window of his apartment while Christine read on the lounge. After the events of that morning, they had hardly spoken to each other. Erik was too lost in thought to say anything; his mother's words from twenty years ago were still playing in his head. He knew Christine loved him and hoped that his face had not frightened her. If her reaction was anything to go by, maybe his mother was right.

His body tense, Erik, sat unmoving in the chair, his hands clenched in fists on his knees. He was painfully aware of every movement she made, every time she turned the page, every breath and every sigh. She had taken her scarf off the moment she stepped through the door and he had the joy and agony of watching her straight, dark hair falling over shoulder. When she closed her book with a snap and set it down on the table, Erik was aware.

"You've been quiet all day. Is it because I saw you without your mask?" she asked without preamble.

Erik took his time answering, trying to summon the courage he needed to deal with this conversation. "Only two people have ever been able to look at my face and not be filled with revulsion. It is a hideous thing, Christine, which does not bear looking at. You should never have been forced to see it. I'm sorry to force it one you."

"You're wrong, Erik," she said simply, her pale blue eyes so earnest. She settled on the arm of his chair and cupped his face in her hands but made no attempt to remove his mask until he had relaxed. When he no longer looked as if he was about to faint, Christine curled her fingers under the edge of his mask, giving him plenty of time to prevent her from pulling it off. He did nothing to stop her.

Taking that to be a good sign, Christine pulled the mask from his. She pretended not to notice when he immediately covered the right side of his face with his hand. The first thing Christine did was to examine the mask. The caramel leather, warm with his body heat, was sculpted to fit him perfectly and gave the impression of high cheekbones and a straight nose. It was so soft it was like touching his skin. As she had suspected, the leather was shaded to give the illusion of definition.

Turning it over, Christine was surprised to see a small piece of leather under the eyehole. Recalling that the lower eyelid of Erik's right eye drooped, the extra piece of leather was clearly designed to push up the skin so the eye looked normal when he was wearing the mask.

Slowly raising her head from her study of the mask to Erik's face, Christine found him staring intently at her. His dark blue eyes were full of fear as if he was still worried she would run screaming at any moment. Her examination complete, Christine carefully set the mask on his lap so he could replace it whenever he felt the need. Gently, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and caressed the skin beneath her fingertips, waiting for him to remove his hand. After a few moments, and a very clear internal struggle, he dropped his hand away from his face.

His forehead was severely lined with wrinkles as if he were far older than he was. His right eye was exactly as she remembered: dark blue, round and drooping slightly. The skin covering his cheek was splotchy and misshapen. It reminded Christine of a smaller version of the cerebral cortex.

Leaning forward, Christine closed the space that separated them and kissed Erik lightly on the lips. When he did not pull away from her in surprise or shame, Christine wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again, deeper this time.

"How is it that you're kissing me? Aren't you disgusted?"

"No!" Christine gasped giving him an annoyed look, unable to believe he thought himself disgusting. "Why would I? I love you, Erik, and nothing, not even your face, is going to change that. I know you are an amazing man who takes protecting me very seriously. You love me so much I know you would die for me. How could I not love you?"

Erik gaped at her for a long moment, unable to find any words. Everything his mother had told him, everything he thought was a lie but secretly dared to hope was true. With Christine it was true. He had found himself a woman he never thought existed. She loved him, and just as Villette said, she loved him despite his face.

"I'll prove it to you," she continued with a smile when he did not say anything. "If I have to, I'll give you a thousand kisses to show you how much I love you." She smiled serenely before kissing him.

* * *

For the next few weeks, life progressed calmly and happily for Erik and Christine. But Erik knew the calm could not last forever; not when he was protecting Christine Daaé and not with the hostile feelings towards France currently sweeping through the country. Apparently, the Ambassador's proposed new foreign policy was causing a bit of an uproar. For the last two days, residents had been picketing outside the embassy.

All the staff members were on edge and worried. They were well aware that, years ago, there had been reports from different embassies overseas suffering protests and even bombings because of opposition against foreign policy. Unless the Ambassador changed his mind, they all knew it was only a matter of time until things escalated to attacks – and possibly bombings.

That time was now. After three days of protesting, Erik knew that the people outside were going to take action. The words were becoming louder and more aggressive. The embassy was no longer safe. He had to get Christine out of there; he would not allow another charge to die.

Finally deciding that the time had come to take Christine away until the protesting calmed, Erik pushed away from his chair and crossed to the window where she was standing, staring out at the crowds below. He was terrified for her safety and had to get her away from the site before something happened.

"Put your scarf back on," he ordered as he picked up the dark yellow fabric and draped it over her hair, which she had not bothered to straighten and curled down her back. "We're leaving."

"I can't just leave," she protested even as she rearranged the scarf over her hair. "I have work to do!"

Erik's blood ran cold at her protest. He should have known she would not want to go. "Christine, you have to. Any time now things are going to get so much worse. I'm not going to allow you to be injured because of the French Ambassador and his policy. We have to go now!"

Not waiting for her to answer, Erik grabbed her mobile from her desk and threw it into her bag, which he had just pulled from the bottom drawer. He gripped her arm, pulling her from her trance and away from the glass he was convinced could shatter at any moment.

"_A__salam_, we have to go," he said urgently, concern for her all over his face. It was only a matter of time before the crowd threw more than threats and abuse. And Erik wanted Christine as far away from the embassy when that happened.

When she nodded, as if suddenly aware of the situation, he dragged her down the stairs – he would not use the lift. Out in the street, Erik gripped her hand, thankful that she had remembered to put on the false wedding ring this morning. The people outside the gates would not take kindly to the fact that they were leaving the embassy and he did not want their flouting of tradition to be used against them and compound their troubles.

"What were you doing in there?" someone shouted angrily at Erik.

"My wife and I had to collect our visas," Erik answered calmly, tightly squeezing Christine's hand so she would know to stay silent. Whenever they were out together, she always tried to speak even though strangers would completely ignore her. This was one moment when she needed to be quiet. "We should have just left them there since we've decided to cancel our holiday plans. I will not allow my wife to set foot on French soil after what has been happening!"

The crowd shouted in approval, pleased that someone else supported their less than positive image of the French Ambassador and his foreign policy.

Quickly ushering her down the street, Erik did not release his grip on Christine's hand. At the moment, he was far too worried about her safety to even consider the consequence of holding her hand in public. But even at this distance, it was not far enough away. _"Do not look back,"_ he ordered when he heard glass shatter and a round of cheers.

Continuing to pull her along the street, Erik thought of the perfect place where, for a while, she would be shielded from all of this. Taking the longest route he could think of, he guided her through the crowded streets of Tehran, giving them both time to recover from their shock and the chance to lose anyone who tried to follow them.

"Are you all right?" he asked after ten minutes of pulling her through the city. He stopped in an alleyway where they would be unnoticed, but he would still be able to see everything going on around him and he could protect her if necessary. He would always be aware of any possible harm that could befall her; her safety meant more to him than his own life.

"I'm fine." She smiled weakly at him before cupping his face in her hands, which still shook. "Do you think anyone was hurt?"

"I'm not sure," Erik lied, thankful that Christine had not seen that woman wearing a dark blue headscarf fall to the ground. He pulled her into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. "I don't know what I would have done if you'd been hurt. Are you sure you weren't injured?"

"Will you stop asking me that?" Christine asked as she gently pushed out of his embrace so she could look into his face, which was tight with strain. "I'm fine; perfectly fine now I'm with you."

When she stepped back into his arms and rested her head on his chest, Erik allowed himself to relax. She had finally stopped shaking and he could feel her heartbeat begin to return to its normal speed. It was as if she knew she would always be able to rely on him and trust him with her life. It was such a weight off his shoulders to see the proof that she trusted him more than she did her previous bodyguard. She had no reason to be frightened around him.

Accepting that she was unharmed, Erik stepped out of the alley and continued on his way, still clinging to Christine's hand. His terror fading, excitement began to brim over as the couple drew ever closer to one place in Tehran where Erik felt truly safe.

"Where are you taking me?" Christine gasped as she hurried to keep up with Erik's stride that he had unknowingly lengthened.

She was intrigued, he could tell. She did not know where he was planning to take her but she was excited rather than scared. Her fear and the events at the embassy were long forgotten. His independent and intellectual Christine was also apparently resilient.

"I want to take you somewhere where I know you'll be safe. You don't have to think about politics or anything else for a while."

"Where is _there_? Erik, slow down!" she cried as she took a few running steps, trying to keep up with him. Unused to the heat of summer in Iran, and wearing the headscarf and Manteau, Christine's face was flushed bright pink. She tried to push the sleeves up her arm but failed repeatedly.

Taking pity on her, Erik reluctantly slowed his steps. Christine breathed a sigh next to him. They were still so far away. He wanted to get there as quickly as possible to get Christine away from any potential harm, but also so he could be alone with her. He needed to assure himself that she was uninjured. At the moment they were not only bodyguard and charge but also two people in love.

"Here we are!" he said eventually when he stopped outside the magnificent building and stared up at it, feeling as if he had just come home. Filled with the awe that he always felt when he stood at the entry, Erik admired the brightly coloured mosaics covering the building and the arched windows.

"The Golestan Palace?" Christine asked, clearly uncertain why there were there. "Dorri and I were here only a week ago to see the Peacock Throne and it was crawling with tourists. How is this somewhere away from people?"

Erik just shook his head at her scepticism. "There is a room that is sealed off from the public. _That_ is where I'm taking you."

Without another word, Erik pulled Christine into the palace and quickly spoke to one of the palace guards in Persian, making sure the guard knew that Christine was under his care. Erik glanced quickly at Christine to see her expression filled with excitement as she quickly translating every word. The guard ignored Christine's presence, pretending she was not there.

Gesturing for them to follow him, the guard led Erik and Christine down the hall that was closed to the public. They crossed a series of hallways where the sun cast patterns on the floor through the stained glass. Going first through a door and then down several flights of stairs, the guard escorted them down to the lowest level of the palace, one that was usually restricted from public view.

Erik held Christine's hand as he pulled her down the stairs and was pleased when she tightened her grip as the stairwell became darker and the air colder. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled when he saw her tracing the floral designs on the tiles as she went. When they all stopped outside a door that led to an empty hallway, he was still holding on to her hand.

"I remember the rules," Erik assured the man. "My wife and I will return in an hour."

Erik waited until the guard was well out of sight before pushing open a hidden door that led to a large, opulent room that was a replica of one of the rooms upstairs with a mirrored ceiling and mirrored and faceted walls.

The floor was covered in brightly coloured cushions and chairs. Persian rugs littered the floor and low, opium tables filled the rest of the room. A large window, which looked out onto a curious forest, covered one wall from floor to ceiling. He ushered Christine inside before closing the door behind her.

"How do you know about this?" she gasped in wonder as she ran her fingers over the silk of a bright pink and gold cushion.

Erik smiled probably the first real smile he had ever given her. "It's a family secret." Comfortable in his surroundings, Erik threw himself into the chair that the Shah would have used and allowed Christine to explore the room. He stretched his legs out on the chair and breathed a sigh of relief, the last hour's events long forgotten.

"You're not part of the royal family, Erik. How do you know about it?" She raised a questioning eyebrow at him as she waited for an answer.

"My great-great-great-grandfather built it back in the mid-nineteenth century for the Shah."

Shocked at Erik's announcement, Christine sank down on to the edge of the lounge Erik was lying on and stared at him. "On your father's side?" she guessed.

Erik shook his head. "No, my mother's," he said simply. "We won't be disturbed here; you may take off your scarf and Manteau."

"What was he doing all the way out here?" Christine asked in wonder as she began to untie her scarf before shaking out her hair. She folded the scarf and Manteau neatly and placed them on another chair that was within easy reach.

"The Phantom travelled the world," he explained patiently, not at all surprised by her interest in his family. He would have expected nothing less from her. She would always research things that intrigued her whether it was the history of Iran, politics or his family history. "He went from France to Persia and every country in between until he finally ended up in America with his son after the woman he loved – Christine de Chagny, the most famous singer of the nineteenth century – died. His journals are a fascinating read," he added as an afterthought.

She was too far away to reach easily and that annoyed Erik. If he stretched out he would be able to touch her with his foot, but that was not enough. He needed to touch her, to know she was safe.

"The Phantom's love was called Christine, too?" she asked in wonder, unaware of his growing frustration.

Erik nodded and gave a small smile as he finally acknowledged the fact that he – who had been named after his great-great-great-grandfather – had found himself a Christine of his own, just as The Phantom had done.

"That's how you know about this room? He wrote about it in his journal?"

Erik nodded. Sitting upright, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to the top of the lounge. She went without any resistance, collapsing next to him and twining her arms about his torso. Erik buried his hands in her hair. "He wrote in great detail about his maze of mirrors. He was very proud of what it could do. The books are passed down to each generation. My mother showed me the secrets of the room and now I'm showing some of them to you."

Seeing Christine's fascination, Erik continued. "My mother grew up in France and after reading The Phantom's journals made the journey here to see the room for herself. It was here in Tehran that she met my father. Then, when I was old enough to understand, she brought me here and showed me how the maze works." His hand stroked her upper arm as he recalled the wonder and astonishment of seeing the room for the first time.

"You're only going to show me _some_ of it?" Christine asked, disappointed at the thought of not learning all of the room's secrets.

Erik looked at her appreciatively, pleased that she was as intrigued by the room as he had been the first time he had seen it when he was eight. He could still recall standing at the window, his nose pressed against the glass and his breath leaving misty circles as he watched the mirrors shift without warning, making the iron forest appear far denser than it was. His little dark blue eyes had widened in wonder at the unexpected roar of the lion before he turned to Villette and laughed. Thrilled by what he saw, he ran across the short distance that separated them and threw his arms around his mother's waist and thanked her for sharing the room with him in a delighted muddle of French and Persian.

"This was built as a torture chamber, Christine. There are some things that are best forgotten," he said, his tone dark even as he touched her face with unbearable tenderness.

"A torture chamber? But why?" she asked as she shifted closer to Erik's comforting body.

"He was a recluse; feared, shunned and misunderstood by society. When the Shah asked, he created this torture chamber, channelling his anger into violence and revenge. No one saw him and that was how he got the name of The Phantom. Only a handful of people called him by his given name – Erik."

They lapsed into silence, each lost in their thoughts. Erik could easily imagine the pain The Phantom had with his deformed face. By some cruel trick of genetics he had wound up with the genius's face. He was not sure Christine really understood the suffering the man had endured, but for Erik it was all too real. He suspected that his mother's affiliation with her great-great-grandfather had led her to call her only child Erik and to be so understanding of his deformity. She did not want him suffering the fate The Phantom had suffered.

"Let me show you some of its tricks," he said, thrilled, as he climbed to his feet, pulling her with him.

Pressing against a panel, which was actually a door, Erik had the pleasure of hearing Christine gasp in surprise. Stepping through the door, he pulled her into the torture chamber. He could feel her hand trembling in his and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand in a soothing circle. Before releasing the door to slide back into place, Erik looked at Christine.

"Do you trust me?" Despite the fear dancing in her eyes, she nodded. "I will _never_ let anything happen to you, Christine. Anytime you are frightened, you just have to tell me and we will leave."

Christine drew in a shuddering breath and nodded. Trust shone brightly in her pale blue eyes.

Erik pressed the switch and watched the door close without making a sound. He nodded, pleased that after all this time it was still functioning perfectly. Alone in the room of eight mirrors and a forest of iron trees, the first thing Erik did was to show Christine how to escape. Right where the hidden door opened into the Shah's chamber was a tiny nail.

"If ever you're in here, all you need to do is press this nail and you will be out of here and safely inside the Shah's chamber." He kept his hand on her lower back, soothing away any anxiety.

"Why would The Phantom make an escape from a torture chamber?" Christine asked as she looked up at Erik, her eyes wide.

"Accidents happen." He brushed away an errant curl before pulling her into the centre of the room. He stood gazing at her for a few moments, his face serious before it broke into another smile. "Now the fun starts!"

He was as excited as The Phantom would have been the first time the room had been put into use. Christine did not look as convinced. He had no intention of frightening her; he would pull her out long before the room grew so hot her mind started to play tricks. He just wanted to show her what the room could do.

Beneath their feet, the sand shifted. Then suddenly the mirrors around the edge of the room began to move. Each changed at a different time and angle, making it seem as if there were hundreds of Eriks and Christines. The trees reflected back at them, making the forest seem even denser.

Quickly kissing Christine's cheek, Erik stepped behind an iron tree with its painted leaves, separating himself from her. He knew precisely when each mirror would turn and where to stand to hide from her. Christine stood dazed for a moment. She spun around on the spot, looking for him but saw only her own reflection and thousands of trees. When she saw him, she sighed in relief only to reach out and feel nothing but cold glass.

"Come find me, _asalam_," he sang out to her from the other side of a tree.

Realisation that this was only a game dawned and Christine spun around, looking for him. Erik smiled, pleased that she was no longer frightened and had entered into the spirit of the game. His mother had played this game with him when they first came here.

The mirror shifted and Erik was able to press a kiss on her neck before she knew he was there. Stepping back in time with the mirrors, he was separated from her again. Christine was laughing as she tried to find him among the trees and mirrors, the events at the embassy long forgotten, but was becoming too confused in the ever-changing mirrors.

Erik divided his attention between Christine and the temperature. He could feel the room growing warmer and knew they would not be able to play much longer. Soon the room would grow too hot to bear. He would not allow anything to harm her.

Once again, Christine came so close that he could touch her and, deciding to draw the game to an end, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her neck. She had seen him coming and welcomed his embrace.

"It's time for us to go," he said against her ear as he took her hand and led her through the trees and back to the door to the Shah's chamber.

Erik and Christine sighed in relief as they felt the cool air of the viewing chamber against their skin. The mirrors still continued to shift and they both stood, their noses pressed against the glass, as they watched, fascinated.

"What else can it do?" Christine asked after a while as she reached out to take his hand.

For a moment Erik was tempted not to answer her. There were secrets and things that his ancestor did that she should never have to know about. But he knew that in her thirst for knowledge she would search until she found the answers – and possibly find some trouble along the way. There were people who did not want anyone to know that this room existed.

"It's designed to drive a man insane. It works on illusions. First he will go mad with heat exhaustion and then the mind is weak enough to see things that aren't there – lions, an oasis. Then, once he has gone mad, the chamber is flooded and the man drowns – or he hangs himself."

Christine shivered with fear causing Erik to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her to his side, knowing that being close soothed her.

"Our hour is up," he said softly.

"Can we come back again?" Christine asked, surprising and delighting Erik as she pulled her scarf over her hair.

"You need only ask, _asalam_."

* * *

When the door of his bedroom softly and slowly creaked open and Christine stood silhouetted in the doorway, Erik was not the last bit surprised. Like Christine, he had been unable to sleep. For the last three hours, he had tossed and turned in his bed, trying to will sleep to come. He could not get the memories of the afternoon spent with Christine from his mind. Knowing that he had the pleasure of showing Christine something that meant so much to his family was precious. He never wanted to forget the afternoon, the way she had listened to his family's story with fascination and the way she had trusted him with her life in that torture chamber.

"Come and lie with me, _asalam,_" Erik said to Christine who was still standing on the threshold, trying to figure out if he was asleep. He threw back the sheets and a few seconds later she was in bed with him, curling her body around his, her arm around his chest and using his shoulder as a pillow.

"Can't you sleep either?" she asked softly, gently cupping the distorted side of his face in her hand.

The light from the lamp in Christine's bedroom filled Erik's room with its warm glow, taking away the gloom and softening the shadows. The light was enough that Erik and Christine could clearly distinguish the other's features.

"No. Is something troubling you? The protests, maybe?" He traced lazy circles on her shoulder.

It took Christine a moment to recall the protests outside the embassy that Erik was talking about. Had that only been today? She shook her head and wrapped her arm more securely around his body.

Erik lay staring up at the ceiling, his arms enfolded protectively around Christine's body. Spending the afternoon in the mirrored room brought the entries of The Phantom's journals flooding back to his mind. That was why he could not sleep.

He could not help but wonder if life would work out better for him and his Christine than it did for the other Erik and Christine over a century ago. With the trouble that seemed to find Christine so easily, he worried that he would suffer the same fate that The Phantom did and have the woman he loved die in his arms. The Phantom had been able to go on – he had his son and needed to – but Erik was not sure if he would be able to without Christine. He could not even begin to imagine the pain The Phantom must have felt, knowing everyday that he would never see Christine again.

"Do you think The Phantom's Christine ever saw the torture chamber?" Christine asked into the silence, pulling Erik from his dark thoughts.

Erik shook his head. "As far as I can tell, he never brought her to see it. They didn't have much time together," he added sadly as an afterthought. He tightened his arms even more securely around Christine as if worried she would disappear. "Even if they had longer together, I wouldn't think he would bring her here. He was probably ashamed of the room and did not want her to see what he had been before he met her."

Christine lapsed into thoughtful silence. Erik was holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe, but she found the sureness of his touch comforting. "She mellowed him, didn't she?" she asked with an insight that surprised Erik.

He thought for a moment as he considered The Phantom's journals. He had been furious, violent, guarded and untrusting before he met Christine. Then, after the events in the Paris Opera House – and America – he calmed. He was no longer so angry and unforgiving. He had been loved and loved another in return. That had changed him. Despite the undying love Christine felt for him, the rage had been replaced by a sadness that permeated every word he wrote in his diary from the day Christine had died in his arms until The Phantom himself died.

"Yes," he said simply before lapsing into silence for a long minute. "Before he met her he was guarded, angry. But knowing that she loved him calmed him. Finally, someone accepted him for who he was and loved him in spite it all."

"I'm glad he found his Christine. No one should be alone; _no one, e__shghe man__._"

Surprising him, Christine rolled over so she was draped across Erik's chest and kissed him. The kiss was so gentle and filled with so much emotion that Erik could only hold her securely to his body and use the kiss to tell her everything he wanted to say. Christine's caress conveyed her love, her happiness at finding him and her refusal to ever leave his side. She did not know what had happened to cut the time between The Phantom and Christine so short – and Erik was thankful she had not yet asked – but in that kiss she promised him that it would never happen to them. Reassured and accepting every promise with one of his own, Erik broke the kiss and simply held his Christine close.

A few minutes later, once their heartbeats had calmed, Christine snuggled against his side and let out a sleepy sigh. Her eyes drifted shut and with her head on his shoulder and her hand resting lovingly over his heart, Christine fell asleep.

As Erik lay in his bed, nursing Christine as she slept, he could not help but wonder if The Phantom ever had the luxury of holding his soprano as she slept trustingly in his arms. The Phantom's journals had been proprietarily vague regarding exactly how much time he and Christine spent together and what they did when alone. Holding Christine in his arms, her body warm and soft against his, Erik could only hope his great-great-great-grandparents had been able to share this moment as often as possible.

Erik could think of nothing better than having the woman he loved asleep in his arms.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Hezar Bouseh**_

Thaovyphantran, RedStalkingDeath and MusicalMaryann, thank you for your reviews for last week's chapter - and for not flaming me for the _LND_ references!

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Erik had been distracted by thoughts of Christine all day. He had been sitting in her office while she helped the Ambassador prepare visas. She had taken off her headscarf, shaken out her hair and set to work. He could still remember the way she had kissed him last night, her hair falling around them, creating a curtain around them. He wanted to push everything off her desk, run his fingers through her dark hair and then kiss her until she forgot all about her work.

Although autumn, the weather was still quite warm and Christine was wearing a shirt that reached her elbows and thick stockings. He had trouble keeping his gaze from her bare arms and the silky soft skin. He was eager to get back to his apartment; the urge to touch her was almost too much to bear. He had been restraining himself all day and did not think he could keep his urges under control much longer.

Unlocking the door to his apartment, he pushed her inside, wrapped his arms around Christine's waist and kissed her. He took a handful of her Manteau and pulled it up to her waist so he could reach the soft skin hidden underneath.

Erik was too distracted by Christine's sweet lips to focus on the possibility that anything could be wrong. While she was kissing him, he could think of nothing else but her. He pulled away from her lips, intending to take off her scarf when he saw movement behind her. It took a few moments for the sight to penetrate his hazy mind.

Someone was in there. He had forgotten that he was supposed to sweep the apartment. He forgot and now someone was in there, planning to do who knows what to Christine. If he had done what he was supposed to, and checked every corner of the apartment, then this would not be happening, his carelessness would not be putting Christine in danger.

When the man came into focus over Christine's shoulder, his face panicked and sweat pouring down his forehead, Erik finally found his common sense. His training kicked in and he pushed Christine behind him so he was shielding her with his body. Thoughts of kissing her were long forgotten. Assessing the man and the threat he posed, Erik felt a moment of pure fear when he saw a gun in his hand and a briefcase in his other hand.

He was not entirely sure why the man was there – he had his theories – but while there was a gun in his hand, none of those mattered. He had to get the situation under control and Christine safe before he could begin to explore the theories that were running through his mind. For once, Christine stayed behind him, allowing him to protect her. As long as she stayed behind him, and the man would have to go through him to get to her, he did not have anything to worry about.

Erik was furious with both himself – for not paying attention – and the man who had invaded his home. Channelling his anger, he fought the man, trying to get the gun out of his hand. He knew he would have no chance of getting his own gun from the waistband of his trousers and getting a shot at the man – and particularly when Christine was in the room and could be injured. He would not do anything that could risk her safety.

Wrestling the gun from the other man's hand, the gun went off with a loud bang. Christine let out a terrified scream behind him, but Erik could not allow himself to be distracted by turning around to check she was okay. Eventually, he got the gun from the man's hand and threw it across the room and began to pound him into unconsciousness. When he no longer posed a threat, Erik turned to Christine and pulled her to her feet. He had been completely unaware that she had collapsed against the wall as fear took hold of her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _asalam_. This is my fault," he murmured over and over again. The sight of Christine cowering against the wall had almost been too much to bear. Seating her on the lounge, Erik examined her body, making sure he had not injured.

"Erik, it's okay," she said quietly as she cupped his face in her hands. Her voice wavered but she was trying to be brave. "I'm not hurt; you didn't hurt me. You saved me."

"It's not okay. I nearly let you die. You were almost killed because of my carelessness." His face was dark with guilt and self-loathing. He had nearly been unable to protect the woman he loved. If his failure were repeated, he was not sure what he would do. If something happened to Christine…

"But I didn't. When I needed you, you were there. Erik, don't blame yourself and don't think of leaving me because of some misguided sense of doing the right thing."

Erik, who had just been about to say that he should leave her, said nothing. How could he protect her when he spent so much time thinking about how he wanted to kiss and hold her? That was why he was convinced he had to leave her. As long as he was distracted by his love for her, she would only ever be in danger.

Tears filled Erik's eyes and slipped down his cheeks. He cried as he was tormented with what he thought was the right thing to do and with what he and Christine wanted. For weeks he had been ignoring the knowledge that he should leave Christine's care to someone else. He could not protect her the way that he should because he was so distracted by her. Now he had proof that he should have left her the moment he knew he loved her.

"You really are thinking of leaving me," she realised as she pulled the mask from his face and wiped the tears from Erik's face when he did not respond.

"I should, Christine. I can't love you and keep you safe at the same time."

"Of course you can!" she snapped, annoyed, unaware that her own tears began to stream down her cheeks. "Isn't that what happens when people get married?"

Erik sighed and wiped away the tears that Christine had missed.

"Erik, I don't want you to leave me. I love you. I have never felt as safe with any of my bodyguards as I do with you. Don't leave me."

With nothing else to say to Christine for the moment and convinced that she was unharmed, Erik left her on the lounge and grabbed the man's briefcase. He did not want to leave her but knew he would have to. But now, with law enforcement already on its way, was not the time to discuss this with Christine. Erik only had a limited time to find out as much as he could about this stranger in his apartment.

Flicking open the briefcase, he sorted through the contents and felt his rage build. It had been exactly as he suspected. Someone had commissioned this man to plant listening devices in his apartment. He was furious that his home – one of the few places he felt safe – had been invaded. Someone clearly suspected Christine knew something that she should not and was desperate to discover exactly what that was and if she was talking.

"Go to your room," Erik ordered, not wanting her to see what he was going to do to make the man talk. He was not sure how long he would be able to delay the continuation of the conversation, but he knew that, somehow, no matter how it pained him, he would have to try to convince Christine that it was best that he go.

* * *

Following the break and enter, Christine lived in a constant state of anxiety. She suspected Erik thought she was living in fear of another attack and he stayed close and alert. He would not touch her or kiss her for fear of forgetting what he was supposed to be doing – and that was protecting her. But what really had Christine worried was that, regardless of her feelings, Erik would decide to leave her.

He took her back to the Palace, to the torture chamber, or the maze of mirrors as she preferred to think of it. There, in the locked and concealed room that very few people knew about, they were hidden from the entire world and all the problems and duties.

Still amazed by what she saw, Christine stood at the window watching the mirrors shift, trying to learn the pattern. Erik was watching her closely, assessing every move and gesture. When she let out a frustrated sigh, Erik sat upright in the Shah's chair and waited for her to speak.

"You haven't kissed me in days," she said sadly as she turned her back on the mirrors and faced Erik.

Erik buried his face in his hands for a few moments before raising it to stare at Christine, his dark blue eyes tormented. "You know why that is, Christine. I love you so much that I will sacrifice my happiness just to see you live. My love is a distraction. I can't show you how much I love you for fear of completely losing myself in you and putting your life at risk."

Her pale eyes full of unhappiness, Christine crossed to the Shah's chair and sat down next to Erik. "But surely here we would be safe. Here, I walk around without a Manteau or scarf. You wouldn't have said that I could if you thought there was any chance of being interrupted."

"Christine-"

"And The Phantom would never have built this room where it was possible that someone could see or do any injury to the Shah. Would he?" she asked as she grabbed his hand.

"Of course he wouldn't. He knew better," Erik muttered as he silently revelled in the feeling of Christine's hand around his.

"So, surely, here, it would okay for you to kiss me. Please, Erik, I can't live without your kisses." She reached out to caress his face, tenderly tracing the bruises he had earned while protecting her.

Her pleading was all that Erik needed. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her down to him, kissing her with all the passion and uncertainty that had plagued them both for the last two days. Her hair created that dark curtain that isolated them from the rest of the world. Here, it was just the two of them.

"You don't really want to leave me, do you?" Christine asked softly against his lips.

"I don't want to, but if I think it's the only way to keep you alive, I will." He brushed her hair over her shoulder to allow the light to shine on her face and then tangled his hands in her hair.

"You'll trust my safety to someone else?"

Erik nodded jerkily, not happy at the idea.

"But I don't want anyone else to protect me. You're all I want. I love you and want you to stay with me forever. What do I have to do to prove to you, Erik, that we belong together? You can't throw away our love because you made one little mistake."

"It was hardly a little mistake, _asalam_," he responded wryly.

"I'm not dead, so it _was_ only a little mistake. Besides, he wasn't after me; he was planting bugs in your apartment – which you've found – and didn't expect us home so soon. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Christine said, hoping it would make a difference but knowing it would not. "Now, will you please stop arguing and say you'll stay with me? I won't fire you. And if you try to resign, I won't accept it. You're staying with me forever. We're married, remember?"

She showed him her hand with the ring he had given her, as if that would somehow make a difference.

* * *

The mirrors whirred softly in the background as Erik sighed, not wanting to leave Christine. He tried to imagine his life without her and found it almost agonising. Imagining his life without her pale eyes, her independent nature that he found so frustrating and her sweet, addictive kisses, Erik knew he could not leave her.

Although he blamed himself, it was clear she did not hold him responsible for what happened in the apartment. If she could forgive him so quickly, maybe, in time, he could stop beating himself up and make it up to her. With Christine's forgiveness he might be able to avoid the guilt that consumed him when Morid had died.

"It should never have happened," Erik said quietly. "Not again."

"Again?" Christine asked in confusion as she sat up so she could see his face. "What do you mean 'again'?"

Erik sighed, aware that the time had finally come to tell Christine the truth of what happened with Morid. "I'm a terrible bodyguard, Christine. I've killed one of my charges and I nearly let you die." He stared out at the torture chamber, unable to bear the disgust, fear or accusation he knew would flash in her eyes.

"You killed someone?" She shook her head vehemently, refusing to believe him. "You're wrong. I will not accept that you killed him."

"I was the bodyguard to Morid Keleft, a famous Iranian movie star. A woman – a fan – was stalking him and I was responsible for his protection. The woman would follow him wherever he went and break into the house when he was out or sleeping. He took out a restraining order against the woman, but it wasn't enough."

Erik paused as he struggled to find the words he needed to tell Christine what happened all those years ago. He was terrified how she would react. She had lost her trust in her bodyguard when he had left her to and allowed her to be kidnapped. How could she trust him after he told her that he had killed Morid?

"One night he went to a premiere with his sister. The fan was insane with jealousy that he was with another woman and not her. I saw the gun and tried to protect them both but I was shot in my left arm. I was useless. She shot Morid and his sister. I failed him, Christine. He died because of me and his sister is paralysed."

"But you didn't pull the trigger," Christine insisted, unable to understand how he blamed himself. "You were not responsible for his death. Erik, you cannot blame yourself for everything that has happened. Please, please, _e__shghe man_, stop blaming yourself.

"You did what you could. If you had done nothing then I can understand how you blame yourself for his death, but I know that's not you, Erik. I'm sure Morid was so relieved that his sister didn't die that he thinks you're a hero."

Erik shook his head. He was anything but a hero.

"I would never blame you," Christine said softly, her chin jutting out stubbornly. "And you need to stop blaming yourself."

Erik gave a tiny smile when he saw her expression and tapped her lightly on the chin. "I should have been there protecting him. I failed him just as I nearly failed you. I shouldn't be a bodyguard. I can't allow something like that to happen again."

Christine's face paled at Erik's words. "Are you going to leave me?"

"I don't want to leave," he said softly as he wrapped his arm around her neck and gently tugged her lips down to his.

Christine smiled, relaxing for the first time in days now that she was certain Erik would not leave her. She kissed him passionately, proving to him how much she loved him and wanted him to stay.

When they finally broke apart for air, Erik pulled Christine into the maze of mirrors and left her in the middle of the forest after another kiss, expecting her to chase after him as they had done last time. But she did not move.

He danced just out of her reach several times, tormenting her with kisses but still she did not chase after him, looking to extend the kiss. Then, as if she had found whatever it was that she was after, Christine spun around and went weaving in and out of the trees.

Surprised by the sudden confidence Christine showed in the maze, Erik stared at her for a few seconds in one of the mirrors. He was so distracted that he lost track of the mirrors' movements and did not know which way to turn to find her. The next thing he knew, she was throwing herself into his arms, laughing. His arms went automatically around her waist and he spun her around to keep from falling. Her eyes were bright with victory as she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and kissed him.

"You were studying the mirrors," he murmured in wonder as he set her on the floor and tapped her lightly on the chin. Here was a woman who would impress even The Phantom himself… And she was his!

"How else was I supposed to beat you at your own game?" she asked softly as she kissed him again, sighing softly, before stepping out of his arms, leaving it to him to find her this time.

Their laughter and sighs echoed through the iron forest so different from the screams of pain the chamber was used to.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Hezar Bouseh**_

**Chapter 10**

"What are you wearing?"

Christine looked down uncertainly at the halter neck dress that left her shoulders and her legs from just above her knees bare. She had decided to change out of her jeans into the dress hoping that Erik would like it. His dark blue eyes had darkened even further, so much that she could read nothing in their depths. "You don't like it?"

"I'll never tire of admiring your beauty," he assured her softly as he gently cupped her cheek with his hand and stroked the pad of his thumb over her lips. "You're beautiful. It's just as well dinner is ready; I'll have time to drink in your beauty."

Touched by his compliment, Christine wrapped her arms around Erik's neck and kissed him. That Erik allowed the embrace and returned it with enthusiasm showed just how far they had come in a few short hours. No longer was he terrified that anything could happen to her if he allowed himself to be distracted. It would always be in the back of his mind but he would just have to learn to always be somewhat aware of his surroundings rather than surrender completely to her.

Their afternoon playing in the maze of mirrors had done wonders for both Christine's and Erik's moods. The two were at peace with each other and the situation. Christine was sure that after their time alone, without any interruptions, Erik had given up on the idea of leaving her. She could not live without him any more than he could live without her.

In the back of Christine's mind, however, was a fear of what would happen if her father ever found out about the near attack. He had never taken kindly to any threat to her safety and she knew he would be far from happy about this. That was why she had to keep news of the man breaking into Erik's apartment from him for as long as possible. She had absolutely no intention of telling Charles the truth of what had happened.

As if sensing her wandering thoughts, Erik gently bit Christine's lower lip to pull her back to him and their passionate kiss. Sighing contentedly, she buried her hands in Erik's hair and focused all her attention on him. They would have happily continued for hours if there had not been a knock on the door to Erik's apartment.

"That will be Jasmin and Victor," Christine said unhappily as she pulled away from Erik's lips and tidied his hair, covering any trace of her hands being recently buried there.

Dinner with Jasmin and her husband had, yet again, been Erik's idea. He had decided the polite thing to do would be to invite Jasmin and Victor over for a meal as thanks for the dinner they had hosted a few months ago. When Erik had strongly suggested Christine invite Jasmin, it had been before the chaos of the intruder started. Then, Christine had been uncertain but content to invite her colleague over. But now, with everything going right between her and Erik, spending the evening with Jasmin and her husband was the last thing Christine wanted. But, with the dinner and the menu Erik's idea, Christine was more than happy to make him pay and do the cooking.

Erik ran the pad of his thumb over Christine's swollen lip and then pulled open the door to their guests.

Dinner passed companionably and without any problems. After they had eaten the rice and stew Erik had spent hours frantically preparing since returning from the maze of mirrors, the two couples sat down with a plate of _pashmak_ and dried fruits and cups of _chai_ in the lounge chairs. It was not something Erik would probably have done, but Christine decided she did not care. She was French and their guests were French, too.

In the lounge room, Jasmin and Victor took the three-seater lounge, leaving only the single chair by the window. Immediately, Victor took hold of his wife's hand and placed it on her thigh, his fingers entwined with hers. Although reluctant, Christine settled herself in the chair Erik usually sat in while Erik stood protectively by her side, between her and the window, his free hand playing with the curls that tumbled to her shoulders.

Christine sat forward in her seat and picked up a dried date from the platter for Erik, which she knew was a favourite, and offered it to him. Surprising them all, particularly after the way he had refused to allow her to feed him when they had dinner at Jasmin's house, Erik parted his lips and bit into the dried fruit. Her eyes intense, Christine held Erik's gaze as she ate the other half before calmly reaching for a string of the rose _pashmak,_ which was nothing at all like the fairy floss she was used to in Paris.

When they last had dinner with Jasmin and Victor, their displays of affection had been calculated and contrived. But now, with their love for each other in the open and the trust they had strengthened by dealing with yet another obstacle, the touches they shared were natural. They touched each other because they could not live without the contact, not because they were playing a role and trying to convince others.

"Have you noticed Leroy acting strangely?" Jasmin asked Christine as she took a sip of the tea. "He seems a little more stressed than normal."

Without missing a beat, Christine nodded her head, earning a concerned look from Erik. "His fuse seems shorter; like there's something weighing heavily on his mind. I think it's only a matter of time until whatever is worrying him causes him to snap."

Jasmin nodded, relieved that she was not imagining things but not comforted by the rest of Christine's observation. She did not know how the other woman managed to work so closely with the Ambassador and not worry every time she went into his office that he would scream at her. She had very little to do with him, but still, Jasmin could not help but be nervous whenever she walked through the door.

Erik's hand stilled. The Ambassador's stress could mean nothing or it could mean everything. He still did not know who had ordered that man to install the listening devices in his home – law enforcement arrived before he could ask too many questions – but as far as Erik was concerned, where Christine's safety and privacy were concerned, he would suspect even the President! His concern getting the better of him, Erik's hand tightened in Christine's hair, accidentally tugging at the roots.

"_Asalam_, there's nothing to worry about," Christine said softly as she took his hand in hers and gently pulled it from her hair. She tangled her fingers with his and tugged on his arm until he perched – awkwardly – on the arm of the chair. "Leroy is far too controlled to ever shout at me at work. You don't have to worry." As she rested her head against his arm, Christine thought Erik relaxed slightly. Whether it was from the contact or her reassurance, she could not know.

Not entirely convinced there was nothing to worry about, but aware that he was making a spectacle of himself, Erik took Christine's empty glass and went to the kitchen to refill it and take some time to get control over his emotions. Christine watched him retreat, worried by his overreaction. Returning a few moments later with a pot of tea, he handed Christine's refilled glass to her and filled Jasmin's and Victor's cups, composed now.

"I can't help but worry about you," he whispered against her ear when he returned to his seat on the arm of the chair.

"I know," Christine agreed as she kissed his cheek and rested her free hand against his mask in a fleeting gesture before wrapping her hand around his. "Did you see the invitation Leroy received yesterday to the banquet at the German Ambassador's home?" Christine asked Jasmin, sipping her second glass of tea.

Jasmin nodded, her eyes wide as she recalled the embossed card that she had seen on Leroy's desk. "I think he'll take you. I would like to go to one of these events."

Victor gave Jasmin's hand a reassuring squeeze, trying to calm her and soothe her jealousy.

Christine shook her head. "No, you wouldn't. It's a night surrounded by men who think they're more important than the one next to him, trying to convince them that they're the smartest and they know the right way to deal with international relations. You're not missing anything."

Erik chuckled at Christine's apt description of the dinner and tapped her teasingly on the chin when she looked questioningly up at him. Her pale blue eyes danced with laughter as she gazed up at him, momentarily forgetting that they had guests.

"We'd better be going," Victor said suddenly, aware that he and Jasmin were close to wearing out their welcome with the couple. He stood and very quickly, everyone else followed. "Would like us to stay and help tidy up? I imagine there are a lot of pots to clean."

Erik, who was already picking up the plate of dried fruit, shook his head. "Thank you, but no. Cleaning up will be Christine's payment for dinner since she didn't help."

Christine laughed, spoke quickly in Persian, surprising Jasmin and Victor, and kissed Erik lightly on his lips – right in front of their guests. Her hands rested on his arms as she looked at his shocked expression before picking up the pot of leftover tea.

"Thank you for dinner," Jasmin said politely a few minutes later once she was again dressed in the _Hijab_. She had seen the look – desire – that replaced Erik's shocked expression and knew she and Victor had to leave as quickly as possible. Somehow, she did not think there would be any cleaning done tonight.

The door closed behind their dinner guests, Erik grabbed Christine's hips and spun her around to face him so he could kiss her soundly as punishment for the suggestive question she had asked, luckily in Persian, in front of their guests. Enjoying the punishment and deciding that Erik was taking her up on her offer, Christine pulled off his mask, reached blindly for the nearest flat surface to place it on and then twined her arms around his neck.

With a sigh of pure happiness, she returned his kiss, forgetting all about the pile of dishes she was supposed to be washing.

* * *

"Hello, Papa," Christine greeted her father brightly when he called on her mobile, three days after that man had been found planting listening devices in Erik's apartment. She was back at work, busy preparing a letter for the Ambassador while Erik was sitting in his usual seat by the door, keeping a protective – and possessive – eye on her.

The protests had ended after almost two weeks. The people who had picketed outside the embassy had finally left the streets when the Ambassador had promised to drop the foreign policy he had been working on for the past few months. It had ended far too quickly for Christine to be entirely convinced that it was truly over. She had been around ambassadors and diplomats enough to know that things were not always as they seemed.

"Is it true, _chère_?" Charles asked without preamble. If he had been there with his daughter, he would have been pacing, stopping occasionally to look at her with concern. His hair would have been messed from running his fingers through it and his tie would have been skewed.

"Is what true, Papa?" Her voice was filled with trepidation, causing Erik to look up at her sharply. He shifted slightly, his body tense, ready to spring out of the chair. Christine only shook her head to assure him that she was fine. She was not sure what her father was going to ask about; it might be nothing. Gripping the phone tightly in her left hand, she waited.

"A man was found in the apartment three nights ago and he held a gun at you! Is it true?"

Charles's voice had risen with anger and she pulled the phone away from her ear with a wince. "Oh that. Yes, it's true." She had foolishly hoped her father would never know the truth of what had happened.

"Where was Erik? I'm paying him enough that he should be there to protect you. What was he doing?"

Christine looked over at Erik and grimaced. This was not going to end well. "He was with me, Papa. He saved me from any injury. If he hadn't been there, I probably would have been shot. But it's really quite funny," she began, knowing it was not at all funny, "The man in Erik's apartment was not after either of us. Not really. He was just planting some listening devices and we were all simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I still don't know who ordered they be placed in Erik's apartment."

"But how did it happen?" Charles persisted, not at all eased by Christine's attempt at reassurance. He was not going to allow her to sway him from his path with talk of the fate she had been saved from. "How did Erik allow that man to hold a gun to your head?"

Her face red with embarrassment, Christine glanced up at Erik. It was almost as if he could hear the conversation. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. "Erik was a little distracted."

"_Doing what?"_

"Kissing me," she said quietly, her face now bright red.

Erik moaned with embarrassment and hid his face in his hands.

"Why was he kissing you? Are you dating?"

Christine sighed, her expression becoming stubborn. "Yes, we're dating. Erik and I are in love."

Charles paused for a long moment. "I don't think this is a good idea, Christine. He's so blinded by his love for you that he's incapable of protecting you. If he hadn't been so distracted he would have done what was necessary and ensured that man never posed any threat to you. He would never have allowed you to walk into danger the way he did. He allowed the man to hold a gun in your face! I will arrange for Erik to be replaced. You will have a new bodyguard as soon as I can arrange it."

"But why?"

"You were nearly assaulted because of his carelessness!"

"Erik will do anything to keep me safe. Who better to protect me than the man who loves me?" Christine tried to reason as she struggled to hold back tears.

Seeing her tears, Erik left his chair and walked over to Christine's desk. She was too shocked to move so he just placed a supporting hand on the back of her neck.

"That is true. But he also lacks the rational thought required of a true bodyguard. Where you are concerned, he's too emotional. I will accept a position on his behalf as a guard at the Iranian Consulate in America. Enjoy your last days with him, Christine, because as soon as I can get your new bodyguard there, Erik will go."

"But, Papa, I love him! Please, don't send him away! I need to be with Erik!" She could not let him go to America, not when the general feeling towards his nationality was so unfriendly.

"It's done. You will realise I'm right and thank me for it one day."

"No, I won't! I will never thank you and I will never forgive you for what you have done!" she shouted as tears pooled in her eyes, not caring if she sounded like a child.

Hanging up from the phone call, she stood up and stepped into Erik's arms. His face was drawn, his expression tight as he realised exactly what was about to happen. Tears slid down his cheeks as he wrapped his arms around Christine and kissed the top of her head. He had decided to stay, only to find that he was about to be sent away.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Hezar Bouseh**_

To my reviewers, thank you for the time you take each chapter to leave a review. You bring a smile to my face!

**Chapter 11**

The tears started again as Christine lay in Erik's embrace. He had done nothing more than kiss and hold her for the past two nights, but just having him there as she cried soothed her. Actually, they both cried together, sharing and easing the other's pain.

Erik was also crying, devastated at the thought of losing her after they had just discovered their love. "_E__shghe man_, don't cry. I can't bear to see you so upset." He wiped away the tears from one cheek before tightening his grip on her body.

"You're going, leaving me," she accused before tears began to fall again. The most unimaginable pain was eating her alive.

"Not by choice and not forever. I'll find a way for us to be together," he promised her fiercely.

"I don't see how that's possible," Christine murmured, feeling sorry for herself. She snuggled closer into his side, not wanting to let him go. "I could always go with you. I'll be able to find a job in America and Leroy will give me a glowing reference."

"_No!_ _Asalam_, I will not allow you to give up your career here," he continued in a calmer tone, aware that his outburst had taken her by surprise. "You have the potential to be an Ambassador just as you have always wanted. I will not allow you to give that up for me. I promise I will find a way for us to be together. I just need time."

"That's one thing we don't have. You have your briefing session with my new bodyguard in a few hours." She made her opinion of her new guard very clear.

She hated him – and she had not even met him yet. He was the reason she was about to be separated from the love of her life. It was easier hating a man she had never met than her father. Although she was still furious with him. In a few weeks or months she would forgive her father; he was just doing what he thought was right. But she would always compare her new guard to Erik and would always find him lacking. No one could ever be a better bodyguard than the man she loved.

"Listen to me, _asalam_," Erik began in that tone that warned her she was in for a lecture. He sat up and cupped her face in his hands so she would have to look at him. "I know you don't want a new bodyguard any more than I want this new job. But you can't do anything that could put yourself in danger just to annoy him. Danger has an easy enough time finding you; don't go looking for it. Please, promise me you'll do as he says."

Christine sighed. "Fine, I promise I'll do as he says."

Erik smiled, knowing there was more to that promise than what she was saying. She gave in far too quickly. "If I told you to kiss me, _eshghe man_, would you?"

Wanting to forget about their separation that was looming ever closer, Christine threw her arms around Erik's neck and kissed him with all the love in her heart. For just a few more minutes, she hoped to forget what was happening.

* * *

"She was almost assaulted last week because of your carelessness," Christine's new bodyguard, Malek, said to Erik in Persian.

For the last hour he had ignored Christine and focused all his attention on Erik as he berated him for falling in love with his charge and allowing himself to be distracted. He made his dislike of Erik very clear; Erik had broken the rule about falling in love. As far as Malek was concerned, Erik deserved what he got.

"I was distracted," Erik answered angrily, as tired of the briefing as Christine. "I was able to prevent the man from doing any harm to her. That is the main thing."

"But you let the man get too close to begin with! You should have done a sweep of the apartment to ensure that no harm would come to your charge."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Erik demanded angrily. "I blame myself for what happened to Christine!"

"You're not suited to protecting people. If you were doing your job properly she would never have been at risk. And then there's the issue of Morid Keleft. She needs someone she can trust to look after her," Malek continued righteously.

"I'm right here!" Christine snapped in Persian, surprising her new bodyguard. "Don't forget that I can hear and understand every word you're saying. I can speak Persian fluently. And it wasn't like that at all."

"Christine-"

"No," she interrupted Erik in French, beyond caring if Malek could understand what they were saying. "I'm trying to accept I have to have a new guard and that I'm about to lose you, but that doesn't give him the right to talk to you like you're incompetent. You're the best bodyguard I've had; the only one I've really trusted."

"Christine-"

She pressed on, not giving the opportunity to interrupt her. "I've promised I'll do as he says, but I won't follow him blindly and I won't do anything without question."

"I expected nothing less," Erik admitted ruefully as he touched her cheek. "I love you, but don't make this any harder than it already is."

Realising that Malek was watching them closely and now knew without a doubt that they were lovers, even if he had not understood every word that was said, Christine took a calming breath. Erik was right; she was making this harder for both of them.

Erik had warned her and she was just understanding now that rule number one was never fall in love with your charge. And that was exactly what Erik had done. Malek was looking at them, disapproval clear on his face.

"You're right, Malek," Erik said softly, reverting back into Persian. "My love for Christine distracted me from my duty. That is why I have to leave. Just promise me, you will look after her."

"Of course I will; it's my job," he answered with none of the passion that Christine was used to.

Erik nodded, reassured that Malek would do his best when it came to protecting Christine.

"Christine hates it when you sweep her bedroom for explosives – particularly when you go through her cupboards. Don't walk too close to her – no closer than two steps behind but no further than four. And never underestimate her; she's well-read, opinionated and can fluently speak four languages."

Christine's new bodyguard looked closely at her before looking back at Erik. He gave a curt nod before saying, "I will guard her with my life."

Those words did nothing to reassure Christine the way they would have if Erik had said them.

"It is time for you to go, Erik," Malek said into the silence of the room. "You have your flight to America."

Realising he was being dismissed, Erik rose and went to retrieve his bag which he had left in Christine's room. He was no longer Christine's bodyguard and could not claim to need to stay with her for her safety. That was Malek's duty now.

"He's so cold," Christine observed in French once they were closed away in Erik's bedroom. She shivered at the thought of having to spend the rest of her life with him…without Erik.

Erik wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her firmly against his body. He rested his chin on the top of her head. "His focus will save your life, _asalam_. He won't allow himself to be distracted by your beauty the same way that I was."

"Don't go!" she pleaded wrapping her arms around his waist, her nails digging into his back. "Stay here or take me with you. Please, don't leave me with him."

"You know I can't do that. I have no intention of leaving you any longer than I already have to. I promise I'll find a way for us to be together," he vowed as he gently grasped her chin in his fingers and tipped her head back so he could look her in the eye. "I'm not going to leave you for any longer than I have to."

"Promise?"

"I promise, _eshghe man_," Erik said softly before he kissed her one last time with a desperate passion. "I plan to return every one of those thousand kisses you have promised me."

* * *

Twenty-three hours.

For twenty-three hours, Erik sat in airports and tiny, uncomfortable chairs – he had been forced to fly economy when he could easily have afforded to fly business class. But Charles had booked his flights and clearly saw no reason to give Erik a little extra space and luxury.

During the three separate legs of his journey to America, he had managed, somehow, to end up next to the most unpleasant companions. From Tehran to Frankfurt, he had had an overweight man who took possession of Erik's half of the armrest had prodded him on his left side. A woman who talked in her sleep had sat next to him from Frankfurt to London and then from London to Washington DC, his new, unwelcome home, he had a child who stared at his mask as if she had never seen anything like it. In fact, she probably had not.

It was all an unpleasant experience to top off an unpleasant day. He had been forced to hand over care of the woman he loved to another man.

He had tried calling her at his apartment while he was stopped-over in London, but his phone had rung out. Malek had obviously already relocated her to another apartment in Tehran. He tried to call her on her mobile but she did not pick up. He could not even leave her a message. Defeated, he just hung up; what he wanted to say to Christine had to be said directly to her. He would keep trying. Sighing, he went in search of a seat.

* * *

A week had passed and still Christine refused to accept Malek's position in her life. She told everyone at work that Erik had to go to America on business and had sent his brother to keep an eye on her. She was conscious of the promise she had made Erik, but that did not prevent her from riling Malek as often as she could. She would just do little things that she knew would annoy him. She never went out on her own – she did not want to draw any attention to herself. Dorri was usually too busy studying to join Christine shopping or sightseeing.

When she realised on her fourth day with Malek that he was not fan of the galleries or museums, Christine made sure to visit them at every opportunity. She took great delight in seeing him walk three steps behind her, his expression a combination of boredom and pain.

Against her will, Malek had relocated her into another apartment. As far as apartments went, it was fine. It had two bedrooms, two bathrooms and air conditioning. But it lacked the minimalist yet homely feeling Erik's apartment had. She also missed the feeling and scent that Erik had left in his apartment.

It was only at night, in the safety of her own room, clutching Erik's pillow that she had taken from his bed, that Christine would allow herself to feel any pain. Erik had gone to America and she was here in Tehran with a bodyguard she could not stand. They had been torn apart. She still wore the silver and ruby ring, fooling herself into thinking that Erik was just away on business and would return to her as soon it was completed.

But no matter how hard she tried, things were not as reassuring as she tried to believe. He had not bothered to call her. When she tried to call him he refused to answer the phone. She had thought he would have picked up on the first ring, eager to hear her voice, but he never answered.

If she did not have work, and if she was not convinced that if Malek saw her cry he would have an arrogant, stupid comment, she would lock herself away in her room and sob. She refused to give up on Erik. She was heartbroken on so many different levels, but she would not believe that he had suddenly stopped loving her just because he was in a different country.

But Erik would not want her to spend her time crying. She had proved herself to be independent and strong; he would expect nothing less from her. For Erik, she would keep going and wait for him to come back to her.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop walking so close?" Christine snapped furiously as they strolled from the library one Friday. "I've told you and Erik's told you. I understand you need to stay close to me, but if you can't look after me from three paces away you need to find another job because you clearly aren't any good at it. There's a thing called personal space… look into it!"

Malek had glared at her but maintained a lofty silence as he stepped back a step.

"I think I'll go to Mother's Paradise for a while," she informed him as if his agreement was a given on an unseasonably warm autumn day. She was pleased she had decided to wear a little floral singlet under her Manteau. She could take it off when she got inside the gates and show off the top she had bought on her last day in Paris.

"No."

Christine's pale eyes narrowed and chin jutted out in anger. "_Excuse me? _Erik let me. He had no problem letting me go in there alone."

"And I'm not Erik," Malek said between clenched teeth. He was careful to keep his voice low pitched so no one would hear their argument. "He let you have too much freedom. He should never have let you go in there unsupervised. You will not find me falling in love with a woman and forgetting everything I was taught both as a child and in the army. Erik has completely disrespected Iranian tradition."

"You clearly have never been in love," Christine scoffed. "If you have you'd know that none of things matter when you love someone."

"They always matter, Christine."

Christine shrugged, not agreeing with what Malek was saying but lacking the energy to argue. "I want to go to Mother's Paradise. There are guards there and no one can see inside. You can have no complaints."

"I have plenty of complaints. It is time you returned to your apartment. You have been outside and exposed to dangers for long enough."

"No!" Christine shouted, before she could control herself. Refusing to apologise or look repentant, she continued, "If you don't let me spend some time there, I will go anyway and make sure the guards stop you! They don't let men inside, you know."

"You are being unreasonable."

"No, _you _are. I just want to spend some time alone and in the sun like a normal woman. I'm French, Malek. That's something you seem to forget. I have chosen to live in Iran but I'm always going to be a Frenchwoman. Now, are you going to let me go or do I have to create a scene?"

* * *

Despite her threats, Christine returned to her apartment. She did not go to Mother's Paradise. Instead, she invited Dorri over for dinner. Right now, she needed a friend and Dorri was the only one she could talk to.

"Why do you have a new bodyguard? Where's Erik?" Dorri asked once they were finally alone.

It had taken almost an hour, but Malek finally left them alone to talk. He had sat in the dining room while Christine and Dorri sat in the lounge, eating their dinner off their laps. It was as if he was afraid to let her out of his sight. Now he was in the shower, but Christine knew from experience he would check on her the moment he was finished.

Christine hung her head, guilty that she had not told her friend what had happened. It had all happened so quickly that the only people Erik had thought to contact were his parents. It never occurred to Christine that Dorri may have wanted to know what was going on. "Erik's gone."

"Gone!" Dorri repeated stupidly, too shocked to say anything else. She looked at the ring that Christine refused to remove and was more confused than ever. "Where did he go?"

"He's taken up a position at the Iranian Embassy in Washington," Christine responded, her voice flat and emotionless.

Dorri shook her head, refusing to believe what Christine had just told her. "He loves you! I know it! He wouldn't just leave you without a good reason. Did he say when he would be back?"

"I know he loves me, Dorri," she admitted as tears stung her eyes. "None of this was our doing." At Dorri's confused expression, Christine continued, "My father doesn't think a bodyguard can love his charge and do his duty at the same time. He sent Erik to America and gave me Malek."

Looking at Christine's pale face, shadowed and lifeless pale eyes Dorri realised just how hard she was taking the separation. "You really do love him, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" she responded sharply before bursting into tears. "I hate my father for separating us. I'm never going to forgive him. Erik is the only man I have ever loved – and ever will love – and he's been taken from me."

Dorri wrapped her arms around Christine's shoulders and kissed her head as she allowed the older woman – who she thought of as her cousin – to cry.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Hezar Bouseh**_

**Chapter 12**

Christine pushed away from the dining table filled with ambassadors and diplomats, smoothed down her French evening dress made of emerald silk, adjusted her woollen coat and slowly walked towards one of the chambers set aside for the guests' use.

She just needed to escape for a few minutes. She had gone directly from the embassy to the dinner with Leroy. All day she had fought to keep the tears and sadness away and now that the darkness was descending, her control was slipping. She needed to be alone before she began to cry in front of the officials.

Precisely three steps behind her was Malek. Thanks to Erik's warning and her outburst, he never came within two steps of her. She knew he chafed at the distance that Erik had insisted he maintain, but it helped her. Tonight, if the man came close enough to touch her, she would probably have screamed.

"I'm not feeling well," she lied to Malek as she paused outside a door. "I would like to sit in here on my own."

"I cannot allow you to go in there alone."

Christine's fraying temper finally snapped. "Well, I don't care! You may stand out here and watch the door. If someone else comes in then you may join me. But at the moment, I want to be alone." Before Malek could protest, Christine pushed open the door and closed it before he could join her.

In the dark of the room, Christine sighed and settled into a comfortable armchair in the corner of the room. Beneath her body weight, the cushion surrounded her, making a warm cocoon to keep the winter air away. Malek was annoying her in a way that, even at his worst, Erik had never done.

"If you wish to leave the banqueting hall for whatever reason," Malek had said that morning as he paced the living room of the apartment where she sat impatiently on the lounge, "You will signal to me and I will escort you. I have read that you attempted on more than one occasion to lose Erik but I will not allow you to do the same with me. You will go nowhere without me. These events are notorious for intrigues. I do not want you to get involved in anything you shouldn't."

"I wasn't aware that you are so unobservant that you need me to indicate to you that I want to leave the hall. Erik would simply notice my movement and follow me at a discrete distance."

"I am not Erik," Malek informed her for what felt like the thousandth time. "I don't work the same way he does. I expect you to follow the way I work."

"So, what signal shall I give you if I need to go to the bathroom?" Christine asked, knowing her language was bordering on obscene, but unable to care.

The sound of the door opening and closing softly jerked Christine's thoughts back to the present. She looked to her left, expecting to see Malek entering the room and destroying her peace but that door remained shut. It was then that she realised there was another door to the room.

Trying to hide in the shadows, she hoped the two men could not hear her heart beating in her chest. When the conversation turned from the weather to discuss the President and his family, Christine knew she had to stay as silent as possible. If the men – one of whom sounded very familiar – knew she was there and had heard and understood them her life was probably over.

* * *

Erik smothered another yawn. He had forgotten how tedious being a guard could be. For the past month he had simply stood in the doorway of the Iranian Consulate in America, watching people walk by and answering their inane questions. The Americans would look at him uncertainly while the people on holiday seemed relieved to see him. He could not wait to get back to Iran; he missed his homeland and, most of all, he missed Christine.

Everyday, when he thought he could take no more of the monotony, he would relive the time he spent with Christine, hanging on to it in an effort to keep going. What came to mind most readily and often was their final moments together.

He could still recall the way she had looked up at him, her pale blue eyes filled with anguish and despair. Her eyes begged him to stay with her. It had killed him to leave her, but he knew that her father would not be happy until he was gone. That desperate kiss he gave her before he picked up his bag and walked out of the apartment haunted him. That was something that he would never be able to erase from his mind.

Other, happier moments, like when they had returned to the apartment from the embassy filled Erik's mind. He watched as she pulled off her headscarf and Manteau, revealing a pink and grey striped shirt that almost reached her wrists. Entranced, he could only watch as she shook out her hair, which that day, she had not bothered to straighten.

A few moments later, they were curled up on the couch together, trying to keep away the late autumn chill. Christine had settled herself on his lap, her head resting on his shoulder and her arms around his waist. Erik had wrapped his arms protectively around her shoulders. Her eyes drifted shut as she relaxed against his body, exhausted at the end of a long day.

Erik could still feel her hair as he twirled it around his finger and her breath as she slipped into a light sleep, clearly comforted by the sound of his heart beating beneath her ear. Her weight against his body had been so comforting and he yearned for it once more.

In two weeks he would resign and then, two weeks after that he would be back in Tehran with Christine. He was yet to figure out a way to convince her father to let them be together, but he hoped that once he was in Iran and close to her they would find a way.

He would marry her, of course. But that brought about another set of problems. He could not bear to even consider the consequences if their marriage was not registered. She would understand, he promised himself desperately. This was a hurdle they could easily get through.

* * *

"The President has an engagement on the third of next month in Shiraz. He will be taking his wife and son with him. Has Teymour been able to infiltrate the office as a driver?"

"Yes, he has had no difficulty."

"And he is willing to do what he must to see that the President is removed from power – permanently?"

Christine held her breath as the meaning behind those words sank in. The man – with the painfully familiar voice – was going to kill the president!

"Of course he is. You will find none more loyal than Teymour. He is willing to die to see that the President and his entire family is dead."

"Oh, God!" Christine cried before she could stop herself. Realising what she had done, she clamped her hand over her mouth but it was too late. The men had heard her and turned on the lights.

"Miss Daaé," one of the men acknowledged her coldly when he saw her sitting in the corner.

Christine cringed with fear as the two men loomed over her. She did not recognise one of the men – the one who held a gun to her head – but the other one was painfully familiar. Leroy. Her own boss, the man she worked beside every day, who treated her like a daughter was planning to kill the President. Now she knew he would no longer think of her as his child but as someone who knew too much and posed a risk to his plans.

"You speak Persian, Miss Daaé?" he asked with a cold calmness that terrified her.

Realising it was too late, she confessed the truth. There was nothing she could say that could convince the men that she was not a threat. Someone who did not understand a foreign language would not have reacted the way she had.

"How well do you speak it?"

"Well enough that I understood what you are planning," Christine brazenly informed the men, wishing she had her gun and Erik with her. She was a lot braver when she was not outnumbered – and did not have a gun pointed at her head.

Leroy shook his head in amazement. "I never would have guessed that you could speak Persian," he mused to himself. "Of course if you dare say anything to the authorities we'll have to make sure you never say another word in either French or Persian."

"You cannot go ahead with your plans! What you are planning is murder!" Christine cried out, trying not to panic when her boss threatened to kill her.

"Christine!" Malek burst through the door in time to see two men stepping through the door on the other side of the room. "I heard shouting. What happened?"

"Nothing. Nothing happened," she lied, knowing that she could not tell him the truth. If he knew what happened he would go to the authorities and then the men would know she had told. She would be killed.

"Who were those men?" he demanded, standing over her.

"I'm not sure," she lied. "Will you take me home?"

As if he knew he would not get any more answers from her, Malek helped her to her feet and escorted her back to the apartment.

* * *

"Christine, _chère_, are you all right?" Leroy greeted her cheerfully the morning after the banquet. It was as if he had been waiting for her in the reception area and could not wait for her to shrug out of her coat and put down her bag. "I was worried that you would not be coming in today!"

Christine nodded nervously, wishing she were anywhere but at the embassy with Leroy. There was no trace of the man Christine had encountered a few nights ago. Before her was the man she thought she knew and, until recently, thought of her father in Iran.

She had wanted to spend the day cowering beneath her blankets like a scared little girl. But decided that she was not going to allow the Ambassador to know he had terrified her. And Erik certainly would not approve of her hiding. So, here she was, bravely facing the man who had threatened to kill her.

She took one look at the French Ambassador and remembered the way he had stood over her while his minion held a gun to her head. She could not forget his plans to kill the President – or herself if she did not keep her mouth her shut. Despite the layers of warm clothes she had not yet had a chance to take off, Christine shivered.

"I'm fine, thank you," she responded carefully, uncertainly. The only thing that gave her the strength to continue on and face Leroy was Malek standing behind her. For once, his presence was a reassuring one rather than an annoying one. If she thought she could get the gun past security, she would have smuggled it inside. _That_ would have given her a little extra courage

Leroy smiled benignly as if he was completely unaware of the undercurrents of fear. "I'm pleased to hear it. Put your things down and come into my office. We have a few things to catch up on."

Christine simply nodded and headed into her office to take off her coat and put down her bag. Malek settled in the chair by the door. She wanted to beg him to come with her, but she had never done it before and could not ask Malek to go with her. It would cause too many questions. She had to pretend that nothing was wrong.

"What did you need?" Christine asked quietly, standing in the doorway of Leroy's office. She would not go in any further. If he tried to attack her, she wanted to be as close to the exit as possible so that she could have a head start.

"What I need, Christine, is to know if you have told anyone of our little conversation last night," he began, all trace of the fatherly figure gone. This was the man Christine remembered threatening her at the Russian Ambassador's home. He stalked towards her and closed the door, preventing her escape.

"Of course I haven't told anyone!" she gasped, aware that if she had, she would be dead.

Leroy nodded, seemingly pleased with her response. "The question is: can I trust you to keep your mouth closed? You are aware, are you not, that it would be very difficult to prove any plot without evidence? It is unlikely you will be believed. I am after all the French Ambassador."

Christine nodded.

He gave her one of the fatherly smiles that Christine now knew not to trust. "And you are the best assistant I've had in a while, Christine. Growing up as the daughter of an ambassador has given you a greater understanding of how the embassy works. I would hate for you to suffer a mysterious disappearance."

"If you kill me, you'll have to look for a new assistant," Christine informed him desperately, hoping her efficiency as an assistant would outweigh the risk she posed.

Leroy sighed and nodded his head wearily. "That's true. That's why I think it best you return home and take a few weeks of leave."

Swallowing nervously, Christine wished she had her gun. Just to feel the reassuring weight of it would have given her the strength she needed to stand up to Leroy. "I have no reason to stay home," she informed him calmly, relieved to hear that, unlike her hands, her voice did not shake.

"You do, Christine," he disagreed, "Or you are dead. Don't forget that I know where you live and if you tell anyone, your bodyguard won't be enough to protect you. It would be so easy to access your employee files to find where you're living – just as I did when I sent that useless man to place listening devices in the apartment. This time, I will make sure no one leaves alive."

Whimpering in fear, Christine wrapped her arms around her body. Tears stung her eyes and her body went cold. The time she had been kidnapped only a kilometre from the embassy in China came to mind and took what little strength she had. "Okay. I'll go."

"Good girl." Leroy stepped forward, frightening Christine. Rather than hitting her as she expected, he simply wrapped his arms around her shoulders and gave her a fatherly hug. "Now, go home and make sure you don't speak to anyone, _chère_."

* * *

"_Asalam_, ah, my _asalam_," Erik murmured in delight when Christine opened the door of her apartment. Even though he was sure she would have looked through the eyehole and seen him standing there, she pulled the door open timidly, as if expecting someone or something to attack her.

She was dressed in jeans and a heavy woollen coat, a forest green scarf hung from her hand. It had been so long since he had seen her – almost two months – and he had never seen her looking lovelier. But when he saw her eyes his heart stopped. For a long moment, her eyes were dead and filled with fear. But when it finally registered that he was standing in front of her, her pale eyes immediately sparkled with happiness and she smiled. Everything had suddenly been set right.

Christine allowed Erik inside the apartment only to have him close the door and pull her into his arms, crushing her against his body. Her arms went around his waist, her nails digging into his back as she clutched him just as hard as he clutched her. Relaxing his grip ever so slightly, Erik lowered his head and kissed her as he had been longing to for the last few months. Christine sighed against his lips and surrendered to the passion of the kiss.

"_E__shghe man, _I missed you." She stepped back from his embrace and gazed up into his face, her eyes shining with a combination of relief, happiness and love. She raised a shaking hand to his mask and ran her fingers down the soft leather as she carefully studied the changes the last few months had brought in him.

"Where is Malek?" Erik asked roughly when he saw Christine was alone in the apartment. "And why are you dressed like that? You're not planning to go out on your own, are you?"

Christine, who had wandered over to the window to stare out at the snow-covered street below, turned around and smiled mysteriously over her shoulder. When she saw Erik's face, which probably said that he was sure she was planning to go out alone, she broke in a peal of laughter. "Malek's in the shower. I need to go to the post office to post Papa's Christmas present. He's going to take me when he's ready."

Erik breathed a sigh of relief when he heard her assurance that she was not planning to leave without her bodyguard. He walked over to the window to stand behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist and his chest pressed against her back as he rained kisses down the side of her neck.

"I read that it snowed in Iran but I never believed it," she whispered, wonder in her voice. "It feels more like Christmas here than Paris ever did."

Erik smiled at her almost childlike tone as he looked down at the street below. Looking at the snow from Christine's delighted perspective, rather than his own slightly jaded one, Erik had to admit it was beautiful. The tree branches were covered in a sprinkling of snow that looked so perfect it was as if someone had dusted them with icing sugar. The bright white of the snow that topped buildings broke the monotony of the landscape.

Outside, the window was frosting over and Christine raised a bare hand as if she could reach out and touch the snow.

"You're still wearing your ring," Erik said in complete awe when he saw the silver ring glinting on her hand. He covered her hand, pressing it between the cold glass and his warm hand. "Why?"

After enjoying his larger hand covering hers for a moment, Christine turned around and wrapped her arms around Erik's neck. "As far as the public is concerned, we're married, Erik. I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. I'm waiting for you to ask me to marry you." She smiled happily at him before giving him a quick kiss. "Then you can turn this ring from a fake wedding ring into a real one."

Erik chuckled appreciatively before kissing her again, hardly daring to believe she wanted to marry him. When he thought about it, a proposal was an obvious conclusion for her to make. He would not have come back to Tehran if he did not want to be with her for the rest of his life. And that was exactly what he wanted.

"I love you, _asalam_."

"_D__uset daram,_" Erik responded in Persian, tightening his grip around her waist before giving her a heartbreakingly tender kiss. "Christine, will you marry me?"

Before she could answer, she eased her tight grip around his neck with a shy smile and faded away like a snowflake on a warm day, leaving his arms empty.

Erik woke to find he was alone in his American bedroom. He thought he had been holding Christine, but it had been nothing but the spare pillow. Furious to find that he was alone, without the woman he loved, Erik pushed the blankets back and began to pace the apartment, too restless to sleep.

At least in his dream he was not apart from Christine. His dream Christine was still wearing the ring he had bought her that first day in Tehran at the shopping centre. She was still wearing it and wanted to be his wife. Clinging to that hope, Erik prayed that the real Christine felt that way about him after all this time.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Hezar Bouseh**_

**Chapter 13**

For three days, Christine stayed in her bedroom, cowering beneath the blankets. She had bravely – foolishly – tried to go to the embassy, to face Leroy and he had frightened her so badly she had done as he said and returned to the relative safety of her apartment. Now, she was too scared to go out, too frightened to go to the library and certainly too frightened to go to the embassy. She was just too scared to go anywhere.

If Erik had been there, if she had been able to turn to him, she would have found the strength to pull through. She would not have told him anything but to have him hold her would have made it easier. She would not have felt so alone and frightened. She had thought of telling her father. If he knew she had been threatened, he would have flown over to Tehran to comfort her – and probably drag her back to France. But until something actually happened she did not want him worrying about her; he worried enough as it was. If her father suddenly appeared in Tehran, Leroy would know she had told someone of his plot and then, not only would her life be in danger, but her father's also. She could never put her father's life at risk.

Several times a day, Malek stood in the doorway of her bedroom, checking on her. He knew that something had happened at the dinner a few nights ago, she would not have raised her voice if she did not have a reason. But she was not talking to him so he really had no idea what was wrong.

Only last night he had been woken from his sleep when Christine had let out a terrified scream. Running to her bedroom, a gun in his hand, Malek expected to see someone standing over her bed. Instead all he saw was Christine sitting up in her bed, her hair plastered to her face and her eyes terrified.

He just did not know how to get through to her to find out what was wrong. He had never bothered to try to understand her.

* * *

Two months without Christine had been torture.

Reluctantly, Erik had gone from the airport to his apartment to drop off his suitcase. By now Charles would know he had left the embassy – he would probably also know that Erik had caught a flight to Tehran the same day he finished at the embassy. Actually, he was surprised that he did not have any problems with immigration as he flew across the globe. He would not have been surprised if Charles had used his political power to prevent Erik from leaving America.

The apartment looked exactly how it did when Christine had first moved in with him, but somehow it seemed empty and deathly silent. It was as if every trace of her had been wiped clean. Her absence was painfully obvious.

Even though there was no evidence of her ever being there, he knew he would never be able to look at his apartment the same way. He would always remember the couch where she had fallen asleep on his lap after work one day, the armchair where he had been sitting when she had demanded to go swimming and the bathroom where he saw a side of Christine that convinced him she did need protecting.

He walked to his room on unsteady feet and his room and stopped abruptly, his head cocking to the side as he took in the sight. Everything was exactly as it had been when he had left, except a pillow was missing from the head of the bed. He searched through the cupboards and drawers but nothing else had been taken. The minx had stolen his pillow. Smiling to himself, Erik headed to Christine's old room.

Just like the rest of his apartment, there was nothing of Christine left behind. Unsure what he expected to find when he returned to his apartment, Erik collapsed on her bed and buried his face in his hands. She was gone and until he could reach her, all he had were his memories. Aware that he was wasting time alone when he could be with Christine, Erik pushed away from the bed and headed for the door.

In the doorway, he turned back to look wistfully at the room one last time when his gaze fell on a piece of dark yellow fabric, hidden beneath the bedspread. Crossing the room in two strides, Erik plucked the fabric from under the bed. It was the headscarf Christine wore the first time they went to the maze of mirrors in the Palace. A smile broke across his face as he held the fabric to his nose – it still smelt like her vanilla shampoo – for a moment before clutching it to his chest, the memories of that day flooding back.

Having wasted enough time in his apartment, Erik tucked the scarf into the pocket of his heavy coat and headed out to Christine's new apartment. Twenty minutes later, he was standing across the road, clenching his jaw against the snow and freezing winter air, hoping to see her at the window or crossing the road to the museum. Today was Friday, so it was likely that at some stage he would see her as she enjoyed her weekend. But she never appeared.

The sun was beginning to set when Malek approached him. Erik was furious that the other man could leave Christine alone, putting her life in danger. Of course he knew he was there, hiding in a dark doorway; Malek could not have called himself her bodyguard if he had been unaware of his presence.

Erik prepared himself for a fight; he knew that Malek would not approve of him being there; he would probably think he was trying to get back his old position. He would probably lecture him and accuse him of not following Charles' orders.

"I'm glad you're here," Malek said without any preamble, surprising Erik. The relief was clear in his dark eyes. "Something's wrong with her. You have to come now."

Without having to be told twice, Erik went running to the apartment, heedless of the traffic that sped around him. Malek was a few steps behind, shouting out the apartment number. He pushed through the front door and went running up the stairs to wait impatiently for Malek to catch up to him and unlock the door.

Erik went running through the apartment, unsure where he was actually heading. Eventually, after checking several rooms, he found Christine's bedroom. "_E__shghe man_," he said a moment later, finally seeing her. He stopped short when he saw her sitting in her bed, her gun clutched in her hands, aimed at the door. "_E__shghe man_, put down the gun; it's me."

He stared at her, horrified by what he saw. Her face was drawn and pale. Her eyes appeared sunken and shadowed and there was almost an obsessive glint to her eye. Her hair hung limply about her shoulders and her fringe stuck up. It looked as if she had not brushed it in days. She probably had not moved from her room in the past few days. Something was very wrong.

"_Asalam_, please, put it down. You don't want to shoot me, do you?" he continued to plead in a sweet voice as he crossed further into her room. He knew he would not get through to her if he ordered her around. But he just hoped that he could reach her through their love. That was one thing he knew he would always be able to rely on.

As if shocked from her trance at the thought of shooting him, Christine's fingers went limp and Erik quickly took the gun from her hands and returned the safety to its position before setting it on the table by the bed – next to a plate of uneaten _Sangak_ and dates. An unopened bag of rose _pashmak_ sat beside the plate. That she had left the delicacy untouched – when she was all but addicted to the hand-spun sugar – alerted Erik that something was very wrong.

Climbing onto the bed, he wrapped his arms about her. She went willingly into his embrace. It felt right having her in his arms after so long. Despite knowing that something was distressing her, he could not help but be painfully reminded of the familiar softness of her body pressing against his.

"What is the matter, _asalam_?" he asked, aware that Malek stood in the doorway, watching them. He smoothed down her fringe and then brushed her hair away from her face.

"I can't say, Erik."

Erik refused to be swayed from his questioning. He waned to know what was wrong and he would not give up until he knew. "Malek and I are worried about you. If something is wrong, you need to tell us. I came back here thinking we would have a romantic reunion only to find you wasting away. It is not because I left you, is it, _asalam_?"

She shook her head vigorously. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm still angry with you for not calling me," she told him, a spark of her old spirit returning.

Erik was surprised by her accusation that he had not contacted her. For an entire month he had tried to call her but she never answered. Clearly something had happened to prevent his calls from coming through and he had a good idea who was behind it.

"If it isn't something I've done, what is it?" he pressed gently.

"He'll kill me," she whispered against his neck. "I can't say anything."

"You're talking about those two men at the dinner last week!" Malek exclaimed, finally realising that she had been threatened. She was terrified something would happen to her if she shared whatever it was that happened to her in that deserted room. That was why she had left so quickly and why she was so nervous. "I knew I shouldn't have left you alone."

"You left her without any guard?" Erik demanded as he looked over his shoulder at Malek, his dark eyes filled with rage. He would deal with him later, he promised himself. At the moment, Christine was the most important thing. "What were you thinking? She could have been harmed."

"Don't be mad at him, Erik," Christine said softly, relaxing her grip on his neck and raising her head only long enough to look repentantly at him. "We had argued earlier and I wanted to be alone. I was tired of being around people. I convinced him to let me sit in one of the rooms alone for a while. If anyone else came in, he was to join me also."

Erik did not look convinced. No matter what Christine said to calm him, he was always going to hold Malek responsible. "Then how is it that he missed the exchange then? One does not usually miss when one's charge is threatened."

"The men went in the other door," Malek answered, hanging his head. "I didn't realise there were two entries into the room. It is something I should have checked before I let Christine go in there alone. I'm just lucky I heard her shout at the men. One of them was holding a gun to her head when I arrived."

His face pale, Erik squeezed Christine so tightly she struggled to breathe. He had nearly lost her and this time it would have been forever. If Malek had not arrived when he did, he may have been attending her funeral. "What did you hear that you shouldn't have, _asalam_? If we have any chance of protecting you we need to know. We need to know from whom we're protecting you."

Erik was not sure when he and Malek had joined the same side but none of that mattered now. He was back in the position of bodyguard. All that mattered to him was keeping Christine safe. If he was honest with himself, they had always been on the same side; protecting Christine from any harm had always been their ultimate goal.

"It was Leroy," Christine confessed softly into the silence of the room.

"Are you sure?" Malek asked before he could stop himself. He could not believe that someone involved in politics could threaten Christine and be involved in what he suspected was a despicable plot. How could she have ever found the strength to face the Ambassador the day after he had threatened to kill her?

Erik and Christine both glared at him.

"Of course I'm sure," Christine answered, returning her had to the crook of Erik's neck after she had finished glaring at Malek. "I think I would know when my supervisor is standing in front of me, ordering his minion to hold a gun to my head!"

"What did he say?" Erik asked, rubbing his hand over the back in soothing circles as he tried to distract her from her growing annoyance at Malek.

"He's had Teymour – I don't know who he is – infiltrate the President's office as a driver. They want to kill the president, his wife and his son." The tension fled Christine's body when she finally confessed what she had been holding in for almost a week. It was such a relief for her to tell some one what she had heard that even Erik felt it.

"Did they say when this was going to take place?" Erik asked, gently pressing her for information.

"Next month. They said a date, but I don't remember it. It's early in the month. The fifth, I think, but I'm not sure. It's at Hamadan. The president must have an engagement there. I'm sorry, Erik, I can't give you any more information than that."

"You've done well, _asalam_." He ran a hand over her head in a soothing manner, pleased with the information she remembered.

"Is there anything else you can remember? Anything that can help us protect the family?" Malek asked, unaware that Christine was close to collapse.

Christine shook her head and then burst into noise tears, soaking the collar of Erik's shirt.

* * *

With Christine passed out from exhaustion, Erik and Malek sat down to decide what to do with her. After a great deal of discussion – and arguing – it was decided that she would have to relocate out of Tehran. They had to know she was safely out of the city and Leroy's reach before they told the president's bodyguards about the plot.

If Leroy had someone on the inside, he would be keeping close contact with him and would know everything that happened. If the security decided suddenly to change or cancel the tour to Hamadan, Leroy would know something was wrong. He would immediately blame Christine – and then he would probably send someone to kill her. No, it was better to wait until Christine was out of harm's way before they started interfering with the Ambassador's plans.

That was why Erik was on the phone with Villette. He was still trying to find somewhere safe for Christine and hoped his mother would be able to help him put his plans in place. He glanced down at Christine's sleeping form and smoothed her hair from her face. She had been asleep for hours, completely oblivious to her surroundings, and in that short time, her appearance had improved as she shared her burden and calmed down.

"You can stay here, _bébé_," Vilette said softly.

For a moment, Erik was tempted to accept his mother's offer. Christine would appreciate her mothering instinct; she needed a mother at the moment. But he could not – would not – put his family at risk. No matter how much he adored Christine that was a risk he was unwilling to take.

"No. I will not put you in any danger. Will _M__adarbozorg_ move in with you for a while? I will relocate Christine into her home. It would be expected that I go to my parents. But if I stay at _Madarbozorg's _home, when I haven't seen her in four years, I may be able to buy Christine some time."

"You know that I do not get along that well with your father's mother." Villette sighed. "But, _bébé_, I will do it for you."

Erik sighed in relief; that was one less problem he had to deal with. Convinced that everything was going to work out, Erik was about to disconnect from the call. But Villette stopped him.

"You had better think seriously about your plans for Christine after this is all over, Erik. You decided you could not live in America without her," she said, not knowing that Charles was the real reason behind Erik's move across the world. "Then you need to do the right thing. I know your father and I can trust you, _bébé_."


	14. Chapter 14

_**Hezar Bouseh**_

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, alerted and 'favourited' _Hezar Bouseh_!

**Chapter 14**

"Teymour will be taking the president and his family to Hamadan. It's been confirmed," Nima assured Leroy.

The pair was ensconced in the dining room of Leroy's home. He had convinced his wife to go out with her sister to do some shopping so that he and Nima could be sure they would not be interrupted.

Leroy sat back in his chair, relaxed now that he knew their plans were in motion. "What about bodyguards?"

"There will be one in the car with the family and one at the car in front and one in behind it. The family will be well protected, but it's nothing Temour can't manage."

"And the explosives? If Teymour plants them before the family is ready to move, will there be any chance of finding them?"

Nima shrugged. "I don't think so. That is something Teymour is still finalising. It will be done properly; you don't have to worry about it."

Falling silent, Leroy lapsed into thought as he considered their plans. Nearly everything was in place. He just had a few loose ends to tie up before they could see that the president and his family were out of the picture.

"And what about Christine?" Leroy asked, glancing at Nima. "Have you been keeping an eye on her?"

Nima nodded. "I have. She hasn't left her home in almost a week. Her husband's returned after his trip overseas." He shrugged, not finding Erik's return worth a great deal of thought. "I don't think she's going to say anything; she terrified."

Leroy nodded, pleased with the answer, but unsure how Erik's return was going to play out. "Make sure she doesn't say anything. If she tips off the President and his bodyguards, she will have to die and I don't really want to kill her."

* * *

So, Erik and Malek relocated Christine to Erik's grandmother's home in Behshahr. Convinced that Leroy would have had someone keeping an eye on the house, Erik and Malek concocted a cunning plan to get Christine out of the city in the dead of night without being seen. They took the fastest and safest route that the two had spent a great deal of time mapping out.

It was a tiny two-bedroom house with a pretty bright green roof and a cream and red fence. It was smaller than Erik would have liked, considering he had to share the house with another bodyguard, but it made protecting Christine just that little bit easier.

The assassination attempt was less than a week away and Christine knew that until that day had passed, she would never be safe. And even then, her safety was not a given. Once she was safely situated in Erik's grandmother's home, which was full of memories and knickknacks, Erik had called the president's security officers and, after much persuading, finally convinced them that the threat was real and only days away.

They trio fell into a routine that, although efficient, left Christine frazzled and frightened. The two men would take shifts standing watch over her as she slept. They would never both sleep at the same time. Instead one would walk around the house, looking for anything suspicious, guns ready to be pulled out, reacting to every sound.

Erik and Christine were currently curled up together in the bedroom they shared, dividing their time between kisses and light sleep. Erik lay facing Christine, taking in every beautiful feature of her face which had come to mean so much to him in the last few months. He cupped her cheek with his hand as he kissed her with a desperation created from his fear of losing her.

Losing himself in the moment, Erik rolled over and covered Christine's body with his own. Keeping his weight on his elbows, he kissed her again, pressing his body against hers from chest to thigh. Her hands skimmed over his body and her nails scraped down his back as she returned the kiss.

Wanting her so badly that he was willing to take the risk of being found out that he was making love to a woman who was not this wife, Erik traced his hand down her breast and her waist to her thigh to grip the hem of her nightgown. He was going to ask her to marry him it would be fine if he made love to her before they had signed the contract, he assured himself.

When Christine wrapped her legs around his hips, whatever reasoning Erik had left deserted him. _She was going to be his wife._ Shifting so he could pull the gown up to her hips, Erik paused when Malek rapped softly on the door.

It was his watch. Every night, Erik would walk past the bedroom, make sure Christine was still where he left her and then continue through the house, looking out windows to make sure no one stood in the courtyard. In ten minutes time, he would poke his head through the door and make sure she slept.

Sighing in frustration, Erik returned Christine's nightgown to where it belonged around her knees and unwillingly climbed off the bed. He looked at Christine and smiled proudly to himself when he saw her hair fanned across the pillows, her lips swollen and her face flushed. Her breasts rose and fell as she struggled to get her breathing under control. She looked so inviting lying in that bed on her own that all he wanted to do was join her and pick up where they left off.

"Go to sleep, _asalam_," he whispered as he knelt on the bed to kiss her even as he pulled on his mask and shirt. "It is early."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, stopping him from pulling away. She sighed unhappily. "You never spend a whole night by my side. And things were only just getting interesting."

Erik grinned. It was just as well that Malek interrupted them when he did. "I know, _asalam_. When this is over, as your husband, I will stay by your side forever," he vowed softly as he kissed her once more and left the room before he could be tempted to stay.

That was exactly what his mother had been hinting at a few days ago. Villette knew he loved Christine and knew he was violating so many traditions to be with her. He had to ask her to marry him or things could get difficult for both of them. That was something he would do, he promised himself. Once this was over, he would ask his parents to join him in proposing to Christine.

* * *

Christine was waiting for Erik to return to bed after his shift of patrolling the house. The sun was starting to rise, but the curtains were closed tightly against any rays of sunlight that dared enter their room. She had turned on a lamp and was reading while she waited, too tense to sleep after what had nearly happened. They would have made love if Malek had not interrupted them.

As she sat up in bed, struggling to focus on the words in front of her, she relived those precious moments with Erik. He had kissed her with such tenderness that she could not doubt he loved her. With Erik, his body a comfortable and reassuring weight over hers, it would be making love. It would be meaningful and tender; there would be nothing sordid about it.

He loved her and desired her. For him to risk making love to her when they were not married showed how desperately he wanted to be with her. To be desired by the man she loved sent a feminine thrill through Christine.

"I thought you would have been asleep by now," Erik said softly as he closed the door to their bedroom, his shift complete and Malek awake.

"I couldn't sleep." Christine marked her page and put her book aside. Then she held out her arms, inviting Erik into her embrace and the warmth of their bed.

He went quickly and willingly into the arms of the woman who showed him such love and passion, and slid under the blankets. With a tired sigh, Erik wrapped his arms around Christine's body and rested his head against her breast.

"Did anything happen?" she asked as she removed his mask and placed in on top of her book. She ran the back of her nails lightly across the newly exposed skin.

"No, luckily. I wouldn't have been able to focus if anything had happened. This is what you do to me, _asalam_." With a tiny shake of his head, Erik rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, his hand tucked beneath his head.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, and the fact that he could have been injured if one of Leroy's men had found them, Christine had to smile. It was refreshing to know that he found leaving her, just as they were only starting, as frustrating as she did.

Shifting so she was lying along Erik's body, in the reverse of their earlier positions, her legs on either side of his, Christine cupped his face in her hands and kissed him with all of the frustration that only seemed to have increased over the last few hours as she lay in bed alone. His eyes still closed, Erik wrapped his arms around Christine's waist and returned her kiss with equal passion.

Gentling the kiss when she felt his hands holding her to him in a possessive way that warmed her heart, Christine pulled away to stare into his face. Sensing her eyes on him, Erik opened his blue eyes and returned her gaze. His dark eyes were filled with his love for her.

"We have to wait until we're married, _asalam_," he said softly as he caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. "The consequences are unthinkable if anyone finds out that we have made love before we are married. I will not put your life at risk."

Knowing Erik was right, but unhappy nonetheless, Christine rolled off his body and curled into his side, needing to feel him close. Using his chest as a pillow, she listened to his rapid heartbeat as they wrapped their arms about each other. They lay together quietly for several long and content minutes, both lost in their own thoughts.

"Erik, do you think Leroy will never find me here? _Truly?_" she asked, her voice so uncertain and like her own.

Erik was silent for too long and Christine knew he was weighing up his words with painful care. He would not want to worry her unnecessarily but nor would he want to give her false hope. She would always be able to rely on Erik to tell her the truth no matter what. In the end he sighed, kissed the top of her head and said, "It's always a possibility, _asalam_. I don't think he will, but we need to be careful."

"Then don't you think these rounds that you and Malek do every night are a little excessive?"

Shaking his head, Erik squeezed Christine tight. "Where your safety is concerned, nothing is excessive. You're the only person who stands between Leroy and his goal. He will do whatever it takes to make sure it's achieved the same way I will do what ever it takes to make sure you're safe. I don't want to lose you."

"I don't want to lose you, either," Christine whispered against Erik's chest and lapsed into a morose silence as she considered the possibility that Leroy could still find and kill her for sharing the information with the President's Security department. She did not doubt that Erik would die trying to protect her, but she could only hope that it would not come to that. She could not imagine a life without him. She would rather they died together than be forced to live out the rest of her life alone.

"I warned you not to let anyone know you can speak Persian," Erik chastised Christine playfully as if sensing the sudden shift in her mood, softening his words with another kiss on the top of her head. "I cannot tell you how proud I am to know that my French wife can speak Persian. But promise me, _asalam_, that from now on the only secrets you will learn are _mine_."

Agreeing readily, Christine shifted so she was again lying on Erik's chest and kissed him, determined to begin discovering exactly what kind of secrets he kept. Her hands sinking into his thick hair, Christine deepened the kiss and sighed when she felt Erik respond with passion that equalled hers. But when his hands gripped her hips and pulled away, Christine exhaled and rolled back onto her side.

"I know: we have to wait until we're married. Just because we cannot make love doesn't mean we can't do _anything_, right?" she asked softly, raising her head so she could look Erik in the eye.

Smiling despite himself, Erik shook his head and tapped her playfully on the chin. Uncertainty shone in his eyes as he wondered how he was going to cope with having to wait until they were married before he made love to Christine.

Smiling with so much happiness that it was almost unbearable, Christine pressed a kiss over his heart and settled back into her position with her head resting protectively over his heart.

* * *

It was approaching dusk.

Malek was dozing in the corner. Erik was staring into space. Both had been up all night last night as Christine struggled with a bout of food poisoning. No one in the house had had any sleep in almost twenty-four hours. With their military training, Erik and Malek could survive on little sleep, but eventually they would need to sleep if they were going to function.

Hungry for the first time all day, Christine stood in the kitchen, spooning rice into a bowl. She prepared a bowl for Erik, adding stew to his before carrying the dishes over to the table. Malek would get his own when he woke.

It took Erik a moment to realise that Christine had prepared dinner for him. It was not until she touched his shoulder that he even knew that she was standing beside him, waiting for him to join her at the table. The sizzle of awareness and attraction that had been in the background since their almost-sex a few days ago was there, stronger than ever.

With Malek asleep, they kept their voices low-pitched as they spoke of inconsequential things. Erik was careful to keep conversations light hearted to keep Christine's mind off the real reason they were hiding in Behshahr.

"Tell me about your grandmother," Christine pleaded as she reached out and touched Erik's hand. She was desperate for his touch, needing it to survive.

Erik shook his head, obviously unable to understand why she was interested in his family. When she cupped his cheek and looked at him with pleading blue eyes, Erik knew he would tell her whatever she wanted to know.

"_M__adarbozorg_ has two sons; my father and my _Amoo_ Khody," Erik began. "Sheloved cooking and looking after her family. You've seen all her cookbooks. Every night she would sit with her family and eat dinner with them. She would spend all day cooking so that when _Pedar, Amoo_ Khody and _Pedarbozorg_ came home from school or work they had plenty to eat.

"She also liked photographs of her family around her." Erik took Christine's hand in his and twined his fingers with hers as he continued eat his dinner. He looked at Christine and saw that she also felt the rightness of the touch. "The candelabra and mirror she received when she married _Pedarbozorg_ were her prized possessions. She would polish them every week to keep them sparkling. According to _Pedar_," Erik began with a laugh and a shake of his head, "_Madarbozorg_ was once ill and unable to polish them for almost a month. She was beside herself with worry."

"Why?" Christine asked, drawn into the story Erik was sharing.

"She was convinced that they would be tarnished because she had not kept to her cleaning schedule. She also worried that everyone would waste away because they were not as good at cooking as she was. She was so worried that-"

Erik broke off suddenly when he heard a rustle in the bushes outside the house. He was instantly alert, on his feet with his gun pulled. Only a moment later, Malek was joining him. They waited another moment, glancing at each other, both silently worrying that it was one of Leroy's men.

Christine sat in the chair, rooted in place and too scared to move. She knew it was Leroy. He probably knew that the assassination attempt was about to fail and had come to make her pay. She had hoped that she would be safe in the little house in Behshahr, but she knew that was a lie. She would not be safe anywhere. Tears slid down her cheeks. She was going to die. Just when her life was beginning to fall into place, it was about to end.

Erik stopped long enough to kiss her tenderly and reassuringly on the lips before he continued on his way to stand by the window.

"I'll check outside. You stay here and look after Christine," Malek ordered, his gun held steadily in his hand. He went to the front door to investigate the noise, leaving Erik to protect Christine.

For several tense minutes, they waited for Malek's return. A tap on a glass on the other side of the room had Erik running over to it, his gun ready to shoot whoever tried to come through the window. He would kill anyone who tried to hurt Christine or take her away from him. Pulling aside the curtains, Erik expected to see someone standing there but saw nothing. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned around to check on Christine. His heart stopped.

She was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Hezar Bouseh**_

**Chapter 15**

Seeing Erik's surprise at the unexpected tap on the window was all that was needed to break Christine from her fright. She had been relying on him so much the last few days to protect her that that fright was what she needed to force her into protecting herself. She still hated having a bodyguard and just because she was in love with one was not going to change her feelings about having a protector. With that thought in mind, she went running down to her bedroom to pull the gun from the drawer.

She stood in the bedroom, the gun wavering in her hand with fear. If only she could hold it as steadily as she had seen Erik and Malek had holding their guns. She just hoped that if she had to, she would be able to shoot Leroy or his men. She knew how to do it. She just needed to forget it was a person and remember that her life was on the line. If anyone tried to take her away from Erik she was going to have to take a stand.

Returning to the living room, she was surprised to see that Erik had left the room and Malek was still outside. Bewildered by Erik's absence, Christine positioned herself in a corner, protecting her back so no one would be able to sneak up on her from behind – just like Erik would do. She held the gun out as Erik had taught her, ready to shoot anyone who was not protecting her.

She waited for what felt like an hour for Erik to return. The house, that only an hour ago had been like a sanctuary, suddenly felt like a prison. She now no longer felt safe in Erik's grandmother's house. Every tiny noise, every shift of the leaves outside the window frightened Christine. She was standing in her corner, shaking with fear now longer feeling as protected as she once did. Now, she just felt hunted.

"Christine!"

Spinning around in fright, Christine held the gun out in a suddenly steady grip, only to find Erik standing only a few metres away. He still had his gun in his hand, although his grip was slightly more relaxed than it had been a few minutes ago. It was his face that frightened Christine; he was furious. His eyes sparkled with rage and his face was tight.

He grabbed her shoulder with his free hand and forced her to look at him. "Where were you? I thought Leroy or his men had abducted you! Do you have any idea how scared I was to find you gone? It was as if, for a moment, my greatest fears had come true and you had been taken. Where were you?"

"I went to get my gun," she answered weakly, aware that she was in a great deal of trouble. She used her right hand to grab his wrist, trying to pull his hand away from her shoulder. Once this was over, she knew she was in for a long lecture. Erik was not going to easily forgive her for scaring him.

Erik said nothing as he ripped the gun from Christine's hand before she could even blink, tucking it into the waistband of his trousers and then releasing his grip on her shoulder. Going back to the window to await Malek's return, he stood in such a position that he could see the door, window and most importantly Christine. If anything moved, he would know.

Christine stood where Erik had left her. She was vacillating between fury and fear as she faced him. She was so angry with him for teaching her to use a gun so she could protect herself only to have him take it off her. She was annoyed with him for making her so dependent on him for her safety. But overriding that, she knew he was hard on her because he loved her. It would always be his love for her that determined everything he did.

While Erik was looking out the window, his eyes squinted so he could see any movement outside, Christine took the opportunity to watch him. His body was tense, clearly still on edge. He raised his right hand and ran it over his tight curls, a sure sign that, although he was paying close attention to his surroundings, his mind was elsewhere.

As if sensing her gaze on him, Erik turned to face her, his dark blue eyes hard. Taken aback by the edge she saw in his eyes, Christine took a step back but continued to unrepentantly hold his gaze. Staring at him, she saw the fear and undying love he felt for her beneath his anger. His gaze promised that he would make her pay for scaring him like that and she suspected it would pick up where they had left off a few nights ago before Malek had interrupted them. He wanted to remind her that he loved her and assure himself that she was safe.

She felt pulled towards him and took an involuntary step closer, closing the small distance. She needed to apologise to him for scaring him and prove to him that she was unharmed. Without thinking, Christine continued to Erik's side, eager to take him up on the promises his eyes held. Not caring that now as probably not the best time Christine reached out to cup his face in her hands. All she could think about was Erik and his hands on her body.

Before she could touch him, Erik stepped back and trained his gun on the door when he heard the doorknob turn. He stepped back against the wall and swore softly when the gun he had taken from Christine pressed against the small of his back. Instantly reminded of the reason he had the extra weapon, Erik was once again furious at Christine. She was aware that she was the cause of Erik's anger and took a frightened step back.

"Nobody there," Malek said as he quickly opened and closed the door. "All I saw was a stray dog."

"You're sure?" Erik asked, clearly not convinced. He had heard a noise and knew that there had to be something outside. A dog had not caused the noise he had heard.

Malek nodded. "I tell you, Erik, there was nothing there. You're worrying about nothing." He glanced between the couple and instantly knew something was wrong. "I'm going to check the perimeter again and then have a shower." He quickly backed out of the house, leaving Erik and Christine alone before they could explode.

Aware that the crisis was over, Erik tucked his gun into his trousers and turned to Christine. "What were you thinking?" he demanded once he was sure Malek was out of the house. "I thought you had been taken! And it would be so easy for any man to come up to you and take this gun out of your hands and use it on you!" He pulled Christine's gun from his trousers and waved it in front of her and watched with dark satisfaction when she flinched.

"Erik, I'm sorry. I just wanted to help. I know I'm a liability to you and Malek. I wanted to prove to you that I could look after myself. I'm not a dependent little weakling! Besides, you're the one who taught me how to use a gun."

Erik slammed Christine's gun down on the table, causing her to cringe at the noise. "And what a mistake that was! Look how easily I pulled that gun from your hand. If I wanted you dead, Christine, you would be. Having a gun isn't going to stop a man who has been trained in the army… and, _asalam_, that is every Iranian male.

"As for being a liability, protecting you is our job! Malek and I are trained against things like this. I have spent four years protecting people; I know what I'm doing. I do_ not_ need your help." He turned away from her, frustration consuming him.

"Then why teach me to use a gun?" Christine shouted, tired of being blamed. The attraction she had felt for Erik a few minutes ago was gone and replaced with anger. As she glared at him, her hands on her hips she was torn between punching him in the shoulder and grabbing his shirt and kissing him desperately. "Do you enjoy seeing me defenceless, Erik? Why teach me how to defend myself and give me some hope that I won't always have tor rely on a man for protection if you're just going to be…_macho_ and refuse to allow me to use it?"

Erik threw up his hands in defeat. "Because it seemed like a good idea at the time. Because I know how having to rely on another person to protect you chafes. Because I thought if you could fire a gun I wouldn't worry so much. Because it made you happy to do something for yourself. It doesn't matter why I did it; I did it for you, Christine. I did it because I love you!"

Christine stared at him in shock, unable to move. The adrenaline left her body leaving her feeling weak and exhausted and tears pooling in her eyes. He had gone against his better judgement just to see her happy; he had done it because he loved her.

"I'm sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing," she whispered as she took a jerky step towards him only to have Erik close the distance that separated them and wrap his hands around her body. "_Dúset daram_, I love you."

Within the circle of his arms, Erik let her collapse weakly against the safety and security of his body. "_Dúset daram, asalam. _Please, don't cry," he begged, worried she was close to tears. His heart could not bear to see her in so much pain. "I'm as much to blame as you are." Christine looked up at him in surprise. "I should have known that a woman as independent as you would expect to defend herself once she knew how," he said, his voice light as he tapped her lightly on the chin before kissing her so tenderly Christine thought she really would cry.

He broke away and drew in a shuddering breath before he continued. "Next time, _e__shghe man,_ please do not touch the gun. Stay where Malek and I can see you so we can look after you. Do you promise?"

Christine gave him a shaky smile and kissed him again. "Yes, I promise."

* * *

"There's been a change in plans," the President's Head of Security told Teymour, the President's personal driver, only moments before he was to take the President and his family to Shiraz on official business.

After receiving the news from Erik Milani several days ago, and finally being convinced of the accuracy of the information, Navid set about ensuring the President's safety. He had discussed the problem with the President who made it very clear that he would not cancel his plans. The meeting was too important for him to miss. Aware that the meeting would not be cancelled, Navid set about making alternative arrangements that did not involve Teymour.

"What is it?" Teymour asked, his voice unsteady as he began to worry that the plot had been discovered.

"I will be driving the president today," Navid answered quietly, watching Teymour's expression for any sign of guilt.

Teymour's eyes widened with shock, aware that Leroy's plans were unravelling around him. Leroy was not going to be happy when he discovered that the Head of Security was driving the President. "But I'm his driver."

Navid nodded calmly. "Yes, but I need you to drive the Vice-President today."

"But-"

"It is not up for debate!" Navid shouted. "You will drive the Vice-President."

Teymour nodded, knowing he could not stand up to the other man. His body shaking with fear and his palms beginning to sweat, Teymour went to start the Vice-President's car.

* * *

Today was the day.

Leroy stood along the route to Shiraz, waiting for Teymour and the convoy of cars. In less than five minutes, months of planning will be complete. The president and his family would be dead.

The first car passed him and Leroy felt a surge of excitement. Anytime now, the President's car would appear, there would be the long awaited bang and the President, and his foreign policy would be dead.

The excitement faded to concern when the second car passed him and then the third. There was no explosion. Rage was beginning to bubble under the surface. Something was wrong.

He knew exactly who was to blame.

"I am going to take a shower," Malek informed Christine the day after the failed assassination attempt. "You are to stay in the house, you are not to answer the phone or the door and if anything happens, scream. And you are not to go for the gun!"

Christine nodded. She was well aware of the rules. Malek and Erik had drilled them into her until they were convinced she would not go anywhere or do anything stupid. The rule about the gun was a new one that was added after that night when all those mysterious noises were heard outside.

Currently, Malek was her only bodyguard. Erik had gone back to Tehran for the day to see a former army colleague and discuss the outcome of the failed assassination plot. He had been reluctant to go, but knew it had to be done. He felt better knowing that Christine was tucked away in his grandmother's home with Malek rather than travelling through the busy roads to Tehran.

So Christine found herself sitting in the lounge room, humming while she read a book in Persian as she waited for Malek to finish in the bathroom. Focusing so intently on the words in front of her, it took her a moment to realise she was not alone. Looking up, she expected to see Malek shaking his head in disbelief – he still could not believe she could speak or read Persian. But instead she saw one of Leroy's men in front of her – the same one who had held a gun to her head – a syringe in his hand.

Before she could scream, he jabbed the needle into her arm and she felt the world go black.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Hezar Bouseh**_

Thank you to all my readers - old and new - who have taken the time to read and review! I always enjoy hearing what you think of the story.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

"What the hell do you mean you don't know where she is?" Erik shouted down the phone at Malek.

He was in Tehran, discussing the situation with Navid and what he and the President planned to do with Teymour, Leroy and anyone else involved in the plot. The security department was still gathering information about the plan and would do nothing until they had everything that they needed. But once they had the evidence, it was not going to end well for those involved. He had been halfway through the discussion when his phone rang and Malek had given him the bad news.

"They took her while I was in the shower. There's no sign of a struggle," Malek answered.

"They drugged her," Erik finished with grim resignation, glancing at Navid. There was no way Christine would leave his grandmother's house without putting up a struggle. The President owed him and Erik would demand that he help find Christine. "Do what you can to find her. I'll be back in about two hours. Let me know if you learn anything."

After quickly explaining the situation to Navid, Erik excused himself and headed back to Behshahr as quickly as he could, breaking numerous laws in the process. On the way, he called Charles, knowing the man would want to know that his daughter had been kidnapped. Charles, as Erik expected, was furious that Malek had failed to protect his daughter but said nothing about Erik's presence in Iran. After a brief and heated conversation, Charles informed Erik he would be on the next flight to Tehran and that he fully expected the two men find his daughter alive and well before he arrived.

Erik disconnected from the call and sped along the highway out of Tehran, only to turn around and go back to the city. Christine was gone. He had to find her before anything else happened to her. It was his fault. If he had been there when she needed him, none of this would have happened. Christine would still be safe in his grandmother's home, waiting for his return like the wife he knew she would become. He should never have made that trip to Tehran to see Navid.

Yet again, he had failed her.

* * *

Christine woke up to find herself tied to a chair in a large airy room. Her head throbbed and she felt drowsy. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open. There was a throbbing pain in her arm and that was when she realised that she must have been jabbed with a needle.

As she looked around the room, her eyes landed on two men in the corner of the room. It took a long moment for her drowsy mind to learn that she was not alone but she could not think of their names, even though she recognised one of the men. She struggled not to cry as she tried to force her brain to work.

"You're finally awake," one of the men said coldly. "Did you have a nice little nap?"

"What are you talking about?" Christine managed to mutter after a few attempts. Her tongue felt thick and uncooperative. "Where am I?"

"None of that matters. What I want to know is who you told about what was going to happen to the President."

Christine could not think. "What are you talking about? What happened to the- Is the President dead?"

"No!" Leroy shouted, angry that his plans had been foiled. He slammed his hand down on the table, causing Christine to flinch. "Who did you tell about my plans? You must have told someone. _Who?_ Was it that bodyguard who pretended to be your husband?" He spoke of Erik with clear dislike.

Pressing her lips together in a childish gesture, Christine shook her head, refusing to say whom she had told. "I'm not going to tell you. Does it matter who I may or may not have told? The President is still alive!"

"It matters," Leroy admitted. "I told you not to tell anyone, Christine. I warned you if you told anyone I would have to kill you. You're going to tell me whom you told."

"No, I'm not," Christine said forcefully but quietly. When Leroy pulled a gun, her certainty wavered. He was going to make good on his threat to kill her. "I won't tell you."

* * *

Charles arrived at Christine's new apartment, exhausted and worried.

He now no longer disapproved of Erik. His daughter loved him and he could hear in the man's voice the pain he had experienced when he spoke of how Christine had been kidnapped. Someone who felt that much pain and guilt had to love his daughter more than his own life.

He should have known better than to think that he could have kept the two lovers apart. He, of course, knew the moment that Erik had left America, but there was little he could do.

If anyone was going to look after his daughter he wanted it to be Erik. That man had risked his ire when he had moved from America back to Iran just to be with Christine. Charles had not heard from his daughter in almost three months – since he had sent Erik to America – but Erik knew that he would want to know what had happened to his daughter.

Charles could not hate Erik for loving his daughter so deeply.

* * *

Erik paced along the Shah's viewing chamber, waiting for the man to regain consciousness. Apparently he had hit him harder than expected because he should have come around by now. After almost half an hour, the man opened his eyes and blinked. _Finally!_

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Christine Daaé!" Erik shouted, his fear for Christine getting the better of him and causing him to lose control.

"I don't know a Christine Daaé," the man lied, his dark eyes wide with fear as he struggled to follow the conversation.

Beyond caring about anything but Christine's safety, Erik flicked the switch that set the torture chamber into motion. The mirrors shifted, the room heated, the lion roared and the oasis appeared as if by magic. After close to an hour of torture, the man, now shirtless, sweating and dehydrated, continued to bang his head on the mirror in a feeble attempt to get to water to ease the ache in his throat.

"Where is she? Where is Christine?" Erik asked again in a booming voice that terrified the man further. "Tell me and I can make it stop."

As he stared dispassionately at the dying man before him, Erik understood the reason The Phantom wrote so proudly of this room. This was his masterpiece. He had channelled all his rage, resentment and hatred in this one room. Here, he was in control and was able to extract his revenge on people who would not have thought twice about harming him.

"She's dead by now!" he sobbed as he collapsed in a heap on the ground and cried.

Terror gripped Erik's heart. He prayed the man was wrong. But if she was gone, he wanted to her to receive the same rights she would have if she were his wife. As far as he was concerned, she was his wife.

"Where were they taking her?"

"Out near the Alborz Mountains where no one can hear the gunshot," the man rasped. "Then they were going to leave her body in the Caspian Hyrcanian mixed forests for the lynxes to find. They couldn't risk her body ever being discovered. _Please, stop this._"

Erik nodded, knowing precisely where the man meant. "Stay here," he instructed him as if he had a choice. "If she's alive when I find her you can go home to your family. If not, I'll take your wife just as you took mine."

The man curled into a tighter ball and began to sob but Erik was deaf to his pain. All he could focus on was the pain that threatened to tear out his heart as he imagined Christine lying in a bloody heap in the middle of the forest.

* * *

Leroy sighed, clearly frustrated. For five hours he had been questioning Christine, instructing Teymour to hit her when she refused to answer. Teymour was growing tired of hitting her; his hand was hurting. Still they were no closer to an answer.

"I'll ask you one last time," Leroy began, indicating to Teymour that he should prepare himself to hit Christine if necessary, "Who told the President about the plans?"

"I told you," she sobbed between bloody and swollen lips, "I don't know!"

Leroy shook his head and then turned to Teymour. "Do what you have to do to get an answer from her. I don't care if you kill her. Just make sure that if you dump her body it won't be found. I really did like you, Christine; you were a good assistant." With a mocking, fatherly touch to Christine's cheek, Leroy left her alone with Teymour.

"Why won't you believe me?" Christine asked weakly, tears again falling down her cheeks.

"Because you're lying," Teymour commented calmly. "So, for the last time, Miss Daaé, who did you tell?"

"_No one!"_

Teymour shook his head, certain that he could get the little Frenchwoman to talk. Without Leroy watching over him, he would be able to rest his hand and take more drastic measures. He pulled the pun from the waistband of his trousers and aimed it at Christine. Pulling the trigger, he had the delight of hearing Christine's high pitch scream as the bullet sliced through her skin.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Hezar Bouseh**_

**Chapter 17**

On the way to the Alborz Mountains, Erik called Malek to tell him what he knew. The other bodyguard would call in some reinforcements – the President owed him – and if necessary meet Erik at the Caspian Hyrcanian mixed forests to search for Christine's body. The first place he checked was the house where she was going to be killed. It was empty. The bright room showed signs of a beating with a splatter of blood and a bullet hole in the wall. As he examined the rest of the house, Erik saw a small puddle of blood on the floor of a tiny cupboard.

Neither was so large as to worry him that she had died in either room. Clinging to the hope that she was still alive, he walked around the perimeter of the house, looking for recent tracks or blood. He wanted to run through the forest that was within easy walking distance, screaming her name but the soldier in him knew better. If he had any hope of finding her alive he had to be rational and calm. Christine needed him to be calm.

* * *

Christine huddled under the Persian Ironwood tree, trying to protect herself from the early spring air as she leaned against the thick trunk, struggling to remain conscious as she was consumed by pain. She was just thankful that the men had given her a Manteau that provided her with a little extra warmth.

Around her she could hear the sounds of the forest, foreign sounds that frightened her. She knew that lynxes, brown bears, wolves and Caucasus leopards all prowled the area. If any of them caught sight of her – or smelt the blood that oozed slowly from her shoulder – her chances of making it through the night were decreased.

The men had shot her at the house, aiming for her shoulder, forcing her to tell them the truth of how the President's Security knew about the attempt on his life. Christine had withstood the pain for only two minutes before passing out. Injured, drugged and flashing in and out of consciousness, the men did not think she had any chance of escaping.

Knowing that she was about to start a life with Erik – and the pain and guilt it would cause him if she died – she struggled to fight off the effects of the drug and pain. She had to escape alive. She wanted to be with Erik. So she waited, pretending to be unconscious.

In the end her patience paid off. Teymour was now alone – Leroy had gone back to Tehran – and was so distracted by a show on TV that she was able to slip past his guard. He had been keeping her in the dark of a tiny closet. After checking it was clear by pushing the door open a crack, Christine staggered as far away from the sound of the TV and into the first room she could find. She found herself in a bathroom with a window that she hoped she would be able to squeeze through.

Pushing open the window, Christine climbed into the bath and after several long minutes and unsuccessful attempts, managed to hoist her weight up and through the narrow opening. The fall to the ground had been further than she thought and she landed with a thump. She stayed where she landed for a minute or two as she tried to catch her breath and ignore the pain that was once again threatening to k nock her unconscious.

Climbing unsteadily to her feet, Christine tried to run from the house but had to settle for a limp; she had sprained her ankle when she fell. Unthinkingly, she limped as far away from the house as possible, not sure where she was going. Hearing a noise behind her, Christine spun around. Seeing nothing, but knowing her time was running short, Christine headed into the forest.

Weak with the drug in her system, the loss of blood and her sprained ankle, Christine lost her balance on the uneven ground and rolled down a hill. Unable to take the horror of seeing the world circle around her, Christine lost consciousness again.

When she regained her awareness she found herself at the bottom of the hill, only metres away from the tree she was now hidden under. With enough sense left, she took off her headscarf and wrapped it around her shoulder, trying to slow the blood flow. She had to make it through to morning, she told herself as she tried to hide under the fallen leaves.

She had to believe that Erik or Malek would come looking for her.

* * *

Erik stopped his pacing outside the front of the house when Malek and some of the Presidents' guards to arrived. For one long hour he had waited for the backup, and when it finally arrived all he wanted to do was go into the forest to search for Christine.

"She's not inside," he said to Malek, even though the other man already knew that. "But she's been shot. Those bastards shot her."

"They've probably disposed of her body in the forest as that man said," Malek responded so calmly that Erik clenched his jaw in fury. "We're looking for a body now, Erik. You have to accept that she's probably dead."

"_No!"_ he shouted as he collapsed to the ground and buried his face in his hands. He did not want to believe Malek and accept what he was saying. He would not believe that Christine was dead. "She can't be dead. She can't die."

Malek sighed and curled his hand into a fist in an attempt to restrain himself from hitting some sense into the other man. "Then you need to focus and stop wasting time so we have a greater chance of finding her alive."

Chastised, Erik climbed to his feet and joined Malek, Navid and the six other guards at the edge of the forest. Together, they began a methodical search of the forest, looking for signs that the plants had been disturbed. For one long, painful hour they searched. The eight men worked quietly, but Erik could not help but call out to Christine every now and again, hoping that she would hear him.

At the top of the hill, near several Persian Ironwood trees, the search team paused. Erik carefully surveyed the hill. Several low-lying shrubs had broken branches as if a body had been thrown down the hill. His heart stopped for a moment. Instinctively, he knew that he would find Christine's body at the bottom of the hill.

Breaking formation, Erik ran down the hill, just managing to keep his balance. He stopped at the bottom of the hill, suspecting that it was a holly shrub that broke her fall. Her body was not there.

"_Asalam. Asalam!"_ he cried, heartbroken at the thought of being too late to save her from dying – or worse having her die in his arms. He was supposed to protect her and he could not keep her safe. He had failed.

He was only slightly aware of Malek and the other men searching the area for her body. They knew that this was where she landed and would find her. But he wanted to be the one who found her; he did not want anyone else to see her before he did. Erik just hoped that the scavengers had not found her yet. He would not be able to stand seeing her beauty marred.

"_Asalam__,"_ he whispered softly over and over as he searched beneath a tree, pushing aside dead leaves.

"_E__shghe man."_

It was so soft, but Erik heard it. The sound had been like music to his ears. "Christine! I have her!" Erik shouted to the men who quickly appeared behind him, pulling out water, blankets and first aid supplies. He brushed the leaves from her body and pulled her into his arms. "_Asalam_, can you hear me?"

"_E__shghe man? _No, you're notErik. I'm not _your_ _asalam_._"_

"She's not thinking straight, Erik. She's in pain and is probably dehydrated," Malek said quietly when he saw the pain that crossed Erik's face when Christine did not recognise him. He knelt beside the couple and tended to Christine's injured shoulder. A few minutes later, with her shoulder covered in a bandage and a blanket wrapped around her body, Malek rose. "You need to get her to a hospital. She's lost a lot of blood and I suspect she has a concussion. She may also have internal bleeding from that fall. Somehow she managed to avoid any broken bones." He shook his head, unable to believe her luck.

Nodding, Erik lifted Christine into his arms and retraced his steps back up the hill and to the edge of the forest, hoping that she would last long enough to get to medical care. Placing her gently on the backseat of the car, Erik had the joy of seeing her pale blue eyes. They were clouded with pain but it was enough to give him the hope he needed that she would be okay; he would not have to suffer as his ancestor had.

"_Eshghe man,_ you came for me," she murmured softly as he stroked a hand down her cheek.

Erik's shoulders sagged in relief. For a moment she had regained consciousness and she would be fine; she had to be. "I'll always come for you, _asalam_."

* * *

Several days later, Christine sat up in the hospital bed, waiting impatiently for Erik to visit. Ever since he had found her in the forest and brought her to the hospital in Behshahr, he would spend a few hours by her side every day. Her father, who Erik had clearly told what had happened and made the trip over to Iran, stayed by her side until Erik arrived and then he would leave them alone. It was so good to have her father with her that Christine forgot she had been angry with him. Every morning he would bring in a bag of _pashmak _and hand it to her with a smile and a kiss on her forehead.

"Isn't it tradition that an engaged couple exchanges _Namzadi_ rings?" she asked with a smile when Erik stepped into her room.

She was still bruised and cut and her body still ached but she was slowly improving. Her head throbbed with an almost constant headache from the concussion but seeing Erik eased the pain.

"It is if we were getting married," he admitted softly, his voice filled with pain. He sat in the chair next to the bed that Charles had recently vacated and lapsed into a long silence

If she had not been lying down, Christine would have fainted. As it was, she stared at him, her face filled with horror. Her hands went clammy and sweat broke out across her forehead. "But you said we would marry."

Unable to help himself, particularly when he saw the pain in Christine's eyes, Erik took her hand in his. His fingers played with the ruby ring she still wore. "I haven't asked your father's permission yet and I'm not going to."

"Why not?" she asked as confused tears filled her eyes. She wiped them away with the heel of her hand and then dried her hand on the blankets. For a moment she wondered if she had lost consciousness yet again and was dreaming. That was the only reason she could come up with to explain Erik's sudden desire _not _to marry her.

Too agitated to sit still, Erik pushed out of his chair and paced the confines of Christine's hospital room. "I failed!"

Christine shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

"You were taken hostage, shot and tortured and forced to hide in the middle of the forest for hours! If-"

"It wasn't your fault."

"How is none of this my fault?" he demanded, stopping long enough to frown at her before continuing with his pacing. "I was meant to protect you – as your bodyguard I failed."

Reaching out her hand, Christine was able to grab the hem of Erik's shirt and pull him to her side. He sat uncomfortably on the edge of her bed as she reached out to hold his hand. "This is not your fault, _eshghe man_. You weren't there; you'd gone back to Tehran. How could you be expected to protect me when you weren't there?"

"I left you unprotected," Erik continued, refusing to listen to her.

The guilt was eating at him. It was all because of him that Christine's face was a mess of cuts and bruises. He did not dare touch the lips, that only a few days ago, he had loved kissing, for fear of hurting her further. He was supposed to protect her from harm – that was the reason Charles had hired him in the first place – and that was what he had allowed to happen.

"You did not leave me unprotected! Malek was with me." She cupped his face in her hands as she gazed into his dark blue eyes, still clinging to his hand. "He was the one who failed; not you. You aren't even my official bodyguard anymore, Erik. How can you blame yourself?"

"I'm supposed to keep you safe."

"You have," she whispered. "I was so scared of dying, but it was the thought of you that got me through it. I knew it would break your heart if I died; I couldn't do that to you. You found me under that tree when I was convinced I was going to die. _Asalam_, believe me; I don't blame you."

"I blame myself."

"_Don't._ If anyone is to blame, it's me. If I hadn't overheard Leroy talking, he wouldn't have threatened to kill me. If I had just accepted that Malek was my bodyguard instead of fighting him whenever I could, this would never have happened."

Erik hung his head as he sat in silence, warring with his guilt.


	18. Chapter 18 & Epilogue

**_Hezar Bouseh_**

Well, here's the last chapter of _Hezar Bouseh_. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, review and add my story to your favourites. Your support of my story has meant a lot - I always enjoy reading your feedback.

* * *

**Chapter 18**

A week later, Christine was out of hospital and recovering in her apartment. Charles was with her, tending to her every need. Erik had not visited her since that afternoon in hospital when he told her that he had no intention of marrying her. Malek left Christine and Charles for a few days, giving the family time together after ensuring that the apartment was safe.

As she looked over at her father who was so attentive to her every need, Christine forgot how angry she had been at him for sending Erik away. She would always be angry with him, but she could never hate him again. He had just been doing what he thought was right to protect her. How could she hate her father when she had nearly died and been separated from him forever?

Christine's face was now a disturbing shade of yellow. The cuts were healing well but the cut on the edge of her lip, as well as the one near her left ear, were probably going to scar. She was forced to wear a sling as the bullet wound was still healing.

"I've made you a boiled egg and mayonnaise," Charles said as he placed the plate in front of Christine. He paused long enough to kiss the top of her head before he took a seat next to her to eat his own egg.

Christine smiled but said nothing. She had hardly spoken in days. What could she say when her dreams were falling apart? She could not even say anything to her father since he knew nothing about the proposal. He would argue that there was no official agreement and Christine could not expect to hold Erik to it. Before she could start the snack, a knock sounded on the door.

"I've come to resign from my position," Malek said as he stepped into the apartment after Charles opened the door. "I'm to blame for your accident, Christine. I don't deserve to protect you any more."

"She needs a bodyguard," Charles protested. He still was not comfortable with his only child being in another country without protection.

"And Erik is the best person to do that," Malek informed him calmly. "The man was torn apart when she was missing. He loves her and will do anything to keep her safe. That is the exact person you want to be looking after your daughter."

Christine scoffed. "Maybe you need to tell him that. He blames himself for not protecting me."

Malek was stunned. "That's ridiculous."

"I know! Malek," Christine began in Persian, hoping her father would not understand what she was saying, "Erik was going to propose to me but now he doesn't think he deserves to marry me because of what happened. Is there anything you can do to change his mind? I want him to marry me. I don't blame him for what happened and he shouldn't blame himself."

"I'll speak to him," Malek promised. "I cannot make any promises that he will listen, but I will try."

* * *

"What do you want?" Erik demanded coldly when a guard ushered Malek into the Shah's viewing chamber.

For the past two days – ever since Christine had been released from hospital – Erik had closed himself away in the Palace. Here he would not be disturbed and would be able to wallow in his world of pity. His thoughts were filled with Christine and he was consumed by a sense of loneliness that he knew would never go away. Christine had almost died and there was not a moment that went by when he did not recall her pale and bruised face. It was because of him that she had been injured. He should never have left her.

"I come as a messenger," Malek said as he sat down on a chair next to Erik, unaware of his building anger.

The only other person Erik had allowed in the torture chamber was Christine and she was now safely in her apartment. He did not know how Malek knew about the chamber, but he certainly did not want Malek there. This was a place that he and Christine had shared together. It seemed wrong to have the man there.

"And what is your message?" Erik did not pull his attention away from the mirrors as they reflected the iron trees.

"Christine is still expecting a proposal."

Erik was silent for a long time as he absorbed Malek's announcement. The last thing he had expected was for Christine to still want to marry him. After he had told her that he had no intention of asking her to marry him, he thought she would have long since changed her mind and accepted they could not be together. "I can't ask her to marry me; I don't deserve her. It's because of me that she has that scar on her shoulder and her face is a mess."

Malek rolled his eyes and paced along the window, obstructing Erik's view every few seconds. "Yes, Erik. You were her only bodyguard." Malek's voice was sarcastic. "You have complete responsibility for her injuries."

"What?"

"I'm responsible," Malek ground out. "Charles had you replaced as Christine's bodyguard so you weren't even on duty at the time. You left Christine in my care and I did not give her the attention she needed. It was because of me that she was left unattended. I didn't need to have a shower then, but I decided that I wanted to. It was my negligence that caused her to be kidnapped.

"How can you blame yourself when you weren't there? You were doing what you had to ensure that the President's Security department had the information that it needed to have the men arrested. Which, I might add, has seen that Leroy, Teymour and three other men – including the one you left in this room – charged. They will probably all be executed."

Erik was silent as he digested Malek's words. At least one good thing had come out of this farce. The men could never pose a threat to Christine again.

"She wants to marry you, Erik! Don't be a fool and let your guilt ruin your future with her. How many women do you know can speak four different languages – including Persian – and rescue themselves from kidnappers and cause a man so much grief?"

"One," Erik answered the rhetorical question.

Malek gave a weak smile. "You were willing to disregard tradition to be alone with her. I thought that said enough about your feelings for her. Have they changed so suddenly?" Malek stayed silent for a few minutes. When it was clear Erik was not going to respond, he continued, "She's waiting for your proposal, Erik. She loves you. I'm not sure how much longer her father will be in Iran. If you're going to do it properly, you don't have much time."

* * *

The day before Christine was to go back to work, Erik and his parents stood at the door to her apartment. He looked uncertainly at his parents as he waited for the door to open.

Villette and Rashid had made the journey from Qom earlier that day when he had called them. They were standing beside him, looking proud and calm. He could sense his father's relief knowing that his son was going to do the right thing by the two families. He wished he could be as calm as they were. Although he knew Christine was going to say yes when he asked her to marry him, he was still worried her father would protest.

Finally Charles opened the door and stood looking confused when he saw Erik and his parents. It was clear Erik was the last person he ever expected to see on the doorstep.

"Papa, who is it?" Christine asked as she joined her father at the front door. When she saw Erik and his parents standing outside, her face, still lightly bruised, lit with a smile. She let out a gasp of surprise, knowing exactly what was coming. "Come in! Come in!"

Not willing to allow Charles the opportunity to veto Christine's request to come into the apartment, Erik ushered his parents inside. Judging by the way Christine could not wipe the smile from her face, she knew that he had finally accepted that he wanted to be with her for the rest of their lives. He had come to propose.

Erik knew that traditionally the conversation would cover Christine's virtue – which he knew she would not appreciate him discussing – and her skills as a housewife – which was unsure existed – before turning to his own skills. He had a terrible feeling the conversation was going to turn into a monologue. Unlike Christine, Charles had no idea what was expected in a traditional Iranian proposal.

"Although I may not be the best bodyguard in the world-"

"_Eshghe man,"_ Christine interrupted him, much to his father's surprise. Apparently Rashid had forgotten that his soon-to-be daughter-in-law spoke Persian.

"-And I failed in my duty of protecting Christine, I am more than capable of looking after her as my wife. I am able to financially support her. And she will be comfortable in my apartment. I'll make sure she lacks for nothing."

"Well, that's good to hear," Charles said, unsure what he was expected to say.

Rashid choked back a laugh, recalling the time he asked Villette's family permission to marry her. Just like Christine's father, Villette's French father had no idea what was expected of him. Despite Erik's French and Iranian upbringing, it meant a lot to Rashid to know that his son was proposing to Christine in the traditional Iranian way.

"Would you like some tea?" Christine asked in Persian with a smile, knowing instinctively where they were in the bargaining.

At the nod from Erik and Rashid, Christine left for the kitchen only to return a few minutes later with a tray of tea and sweets – including _pashmak _– in her hands. Christine poured a cup for Erik and their parents before sitting next to her father and waiting impatiently for the next question.

"I would like to ask your permission to marry your daughter," Erik said after a long swallow of tea. "I love her and want to spend the rest of my life with her. I blame myself for not looking after her and want to spend the rest of my life making that up to her."

"Do you love him?" Charles asked Christine, more out of a feeling of responsibility than any doubts.

"I do, Papa," Christine answered not having to think about her answer.

Charles sighed. "Then you have my permission, Erik. If it weren't for you and the way you love Christine, I know she would never have been found. It was wrong to send you to America and it was wrong of me to block your phone calls so you couldn't contact each other."

Storing away that piece of information for later, Erik walked around the coffee table that separated to two families and took Christine's hands in his. "Christine, _d__uset daram azizam. Ba man ezdevaj mikoni?"_

She smiled so brilliantly that Erik was able to forget that her face was marked with bruises and cuts. All he saw was her happiness as she knew that their dreams were about to come true.

"Yes! Of course I'll marry you. I'll marry you." She threw herself into his arms and sighed happily when she kissed him for the first time in more than a fortnight.

Embarrassed to be seen kissing Christine in front of their parents, Erik pulled away from her sweet lips. "As soon as we can organise it, we will have our _namzadi_ ceremony and I will give you that ring you were asking for at the hospital," he promised with a playful smile as he tapped her on the chin.

Too happy to worry about what his parents would think, Christine just laughed and kissed Erik again, he would learn to accept her kisses in front of others.

* * *

After Erik's cousin's wedding, Christine had read about Iranian wedding traditions and thought she knew what to expect. But for the first time in her life, the things she had read in a book did not help. If Erik and his mother had not been guiding her, she would have been well and truly out of her depth.

First she and Erik had exchanged simple silver engagement rings amid a party that included several staff members from the embassy and family made primarily of Erik's Iranian relatives. Her favourite cousin flew from Paris to celebrate with her, making Christine's engagement party better than she could ever have imagined. She also had the enjoyment of placing a ring on Erik's hand and claiming him as hers just as men had been doing for years.

Three days before her wedding, Christine had undergone a beautification process where all of the hair was removed from her body. For weeks she had fought the urge to shave her legs or pluck her brows, knowing that Erik would appreciate her following the tradition. She had been plucking her eyebrows since she was a teenager but they were now the most defined they had ever been. Villette explained to her that shaving and plucking was often a problem in a way it had not been a hundred or so years ago. After all that was done, her hands and feet were covered in henna tattoos.

The festivities continuing, Christine had received a pair of mirrors and candelabras, which would go into Erik's apartment when she moved in with him after their wedding. At her prompting, her father had joined in the Iranian wedding traditions and provided several decorative items for Erik's house as part of the dowry. Finally his apartment would have the feminine touch it needed but she felt she could not add when he had been her bodyguard.

Then the marriage contract had to be signed. After that they had enjoyed the _sofreh aghed_, a wedding feast that left Christine speechless. During the ceremony Erik had slipped a beautiful diamond, ruby and sapphire ring onto her finger. They were then showered in rice, flowers and coins, much to Christine's delight. This had started the celebrations hosted by his family and friends that seemed never ending. Joining in all of this were her colleagues, their families, which of course included Erik's parents, Dorri, and most importantly her father and cousin, Marceau.

"How many more parties will your family throw?" she asked, glancing at Erik as she lay down beside him on one of the lounges in the Shah's viewing chamber. Her legs twined around his and she rested her hand on his chest.

Erik did not look up from his task of tracing one of the intricate tattoos on the back of her hand with the tip of his finger. "I think that was the last of them. You should know, _asalam_, that these festivities often last for a several days."

Christine said nothing as she closed her eyes and enjoyed being alone with her husband rather than being surrounded by family and friends. It was strange to think that the only way they could be sure to have time alone was to hide in the room that overlooked a torture chamber. But this room would always hold a special place in both their hearts – but for different reasons. Here they could be alone and in love. They could show their affection for each other without having to worry about offending anyone.

"And what will happen to us, Christine?" he asked softly after a long pause.

She looked at him thoughtfully, trying to figure out what he was asking her. As if understanding what he was asking, Christine rolled over so she was lying across his chest, pulled off his mask and kissed him. She had always loved him and that he was willing to put his own future on hold for her made her love him even more.

Reluctantly she pulled away from his lips and lovingly caressed his battered cheek. "You have your home here."

"That doesn't matter. If you want, we can move to Paris to be with your father and your cousin. I know how lonely you've been." His hands fisted in her hair as he held her close.

His dark blue eyes were so earnest that Christine could not help but smile. "Dorri and your parents are wonderful company. I finally feel as if I belong. I want to stay here, Erik. We belong here."

Erik smiled with relief as he wrapped his arms around Christine's waist and kissed her passionately, showing her in his own way how much her willingness to stay in Iran meant to him and how deeply he loved her.

* * *

**EPILOGUE - THREE YEARS LATER**

The new French Ambassador in Iran sat back in her chair as she stared unseeingly about her new office. It was still the same desk and chair she had used when she had been an assistant when she had first arrived in Tehran, but Christine had finally accepted the office change after a great deal of prompting from Erik.

Although two other ambassadors had sat in this office, Christine had felt the taint of Leroy in it. That was why she had moved her old desk into the larger office, cleaned every surface as if that could somehow wash away Leroy's presence and covered as much as she could with precious things. This office was like a second home with photos and knickknacks that reminded her of so many good times she had shared with her husband.

Just as she was contemplating a cup of _chai_ before her meeting with the Italian Ambassador, Erik and Dorri came through her door. Smiling happily at the sight of her husband and cousin, Christine rushed around the desk and kissed Erik quickly on the lips.

He was still shy about showing affection in public, but had become used to Christine and allowed her brief touches, particularly when he thought no one would notice. Of course Dorri noticed, but she hardly counted. Hugging and kissing Dorri's cheeks as most Iranian women did, Christine pulled them further into her office.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in Persian once she was seated behind her desk.

She gazed at her husband, once again taken by how handsome he was. His blue eyes still fascinated her and she knew she would never tire of gazing at him. If Dorri had not been there, she would have joined him on the other side of the desk, pulled off his mask, traced his jaw line and then kissed him until they were both breathless.

Aware of what Christine was thinking, Erik took a moment to answer her. "Dorri needs to speak to you. So I thought I would escort her and see my lovely wife," he answered, his voice husky, earning a smile from Christine.

"What did you need to speak to me about, Dorri?" Christine asked, refusing to allow Erik to talk for his cousin. There were some habits she refused to break, no matter how long she had lived in Tehran.

"I need a visa. I'm going to France to see Marceau!" Her voice rose at the end, unable to contain her excitement. She passed the paperwork over the desk to Christine.

"My cousin?" Christine asked in confusion as she quickly read through the application. She looked at Erik and saw him grinning, clearly happy at the unexpected turn of events that Christine did not know about. Another glance at Dorri told her everything she needed to know. "You're in love! Marceau has always been my favourite cousin."

A while later, after she had worked her way through most of the application, Christine glanced at the clock and sighed. "I have a meeting with the Italian Ambassador in ten minutes. I'll continue this after and I'll let you know when you can come in to pick up your visa."

Dorri smiled happily, convinced her holiday plans would be perfect. Secretly, she hoped Marceau would propose to her. They had been writing to each other for three years; it was definitely time to get married. After hugging and kissing Christine goodbye, she waited outside the office, leaving Erik and Christine alone.

"I had no idea," Christine admitted softly as she wrapped her arms around Erik's waist.

"Mama assures me that if I had not been so busy looking at you at our _sofreh aghed_, I would have noticed our cousins sneaking off together and falling in love," he responded with a smile, tapping Christine lightly on the chin.

Christine believed that. Villette seemed to always see what others did not. She knew that her son was in love even before he did. It made sense that she would notice her niece falling head over heels in love with Christine's cousin. She just hoped that if Marceau asked Dorri to marry him, they would live in Tehran. That way, she would have her cousin and her best friend close by rather than halfway across the world in France.

"How long have you known?" Christine asked stroking Erik's left cheek and feeling herself drown in his dark blue eyes.

"About a week."

Her hand stilled in surprise. "You knew and you kept it from me for that long? You owe me!" She gave him a fierce frown only to ruin it a moment later by smiling. "It had better be good; the fate of France and Iran relations depend on it, _eshghe man_," she laughed.

Erik smiled at her playful tone. Leave it to his ambassador wife to drag politics into it. He knew exactly what she expected as payment. "_Hezar b__ouseh_, _asalam__?_"

Christine just smiled. Tipping her head back and twining her arms around his neck, she waited for the first of her thousand kisses. When it finally came, she sighed in delight and returned the kiss with all the love in her heart.


End file.
